#and the reality is that the majority of men especially the ones who are urging women to be housewives aren’t interested in an equal marriage

[saturnville]

on the frontline, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (major lanessa "nessa" dixon) content: in an unlikely event, john meets another major during the war, but she isn't what he expects. warnings: medical inaccuracies. an: Nessa is inspired by major della raney jackson, first black major of the army nurse corps. tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste

The mess hall bustled with deep voices and the screeching of rubber soles against the dirty floor. The sun shone through the dusty windows and onto the leather-covered backs of the soldiers. An aroma of breakfast filled the atmosphere and wrapped its arms around them like a warm hug. The chefs made a large meal before missions. It was the last meal some men had to cherish. 

At a long table sat 13 men; two majors, two captains, a lieutenant, and eight sergeants. The conversations were minimal, until a sergeant spoke, “Have you met the new nurse?” He whistled he guzzled down a hefty bowl of oatmeal. He grunted after swallowing the hot oats and slurped down the black coffee beside his arm. “She’s a beauty!”

There was a discourse among the men who tried to figure out when they’d see the newly hired nurses. The wages of war came at a high price. Death and injury seemed to be a suitable payment to the creditor. To combat that, the service brought on extra hands to give medical assistance to the troops, especially with more men being enlisted to serve. Hundreds of thousands of men prepared to put their lives on the line; the least they could have was efficient medical care. 

“They all are,” another commented. “50 more nurses and half of ‘em are Black. Came in with them Tuskegee Airmen. Never seen anything like it.” 

As the pilots bantered about the new nurses, Major John Egan kept his gaze fixed on his coffee, his mind elsewhere. The arrival of more nurses was a reminder of the harsh realities of war, the constant influx of fresh faces tasked with patching up the broken bodies that returned from the front lines. Dread settled deep in his stomach at the thought of encountering them under such circumstances. With a curt nod, he urged his comrades to focus on the day ahead. Meanwhile, the chatter of the mess hall continued, blending with the clinking of utensils and the low hum of conversations.

“Haven’t seen them,” he spoke from behind the rim of his coffee. “Hoping I never have to. Let’s get going, boys.”  “Yes, sir.” 

-

“Major Egan’s hit!” For a moment, there was silence. Then, it wound up again when the wounded leader crossed the threshold into the infirmary.

The infirmary was chaotic. Loud cries and deep groans filled the air. Trays and metal utensils kissed one another as they were tossed on carts filled with supplies. White coats here and there sifted throughout the room as green bodies wheeled more patients into the large room. 

His breathing was ragged and heavy. With blurred vision caused by tears surfacing in the ducts on his eyes, it was difficult to navigate the infirmary without bumping into objects and solid bodies. His feet were heavy as he stumbled further into the infirmary. 

"I got you, Bucky," Gale's voice was frantic as he hoisted the pilot on his body. "You're gonna be alright, y'hear me?" If he had the strength, he would have replied. His heartbeat was in his ears and his stomach was in his throat. He'd never been shot before. Would this be the end of his career as a pilot? He groaned in agony. 

"I need a nurse!" Gale hollered, his husk voice reverberating off the walls. "He's been shot. Bullet is still in his shoulder."

In front of him appeared a nurse. A highly ranked nurse, at that. She was dressed differently than the others. There was no matching white skirt set with a pretty hat, no, she was dressed just like him. Dark leather jacket, heavy pants, and dark boots. On her chest was a multitude of badges and pins, including one that was similar to the one on Gale's chest. Major. Well, he'd be damned.

She didn't stay in his sight long, as she began giving orders to two other nurses, who were preparing a bed. She ushered her patient to another nurse and wrapped her black stethoscope around her neck. Around her wrist was a small hair-tie which she used to pull her curls into a makeshift bun. With a thunderous voice, she ordered, “Bessie, get him on a stretcher and bring him to me.”

A fellow nurse, Bessie assisted Gale in getting John on a stretcher. Gale stood behind the ladies, the tip of his thumb against his teeth. As the stretcher was rolled toward her station, she made a quick work of the gloves and ordered him to stay calm. “I’m gonna cut your shirt, okay? I need you to remove your hand so I can take a look. Take deep breaths for me.”

Beads of sweat trailed down John's forehead as he gritted his teeth. His nostrils flared and his jaw shook as he tried to keep his sounds to a minimum. The nurse above him chuckled, which caught his attention. "What's funny?" He managed to ask. 

She pushed his stubborn hand to the side and used her scissors to split his shirt in half. She was unfazed as blood trickled out of the open wound. It was ugly, but she knew how to make ugly beautiful. The wound was a wicked one, but it was a clean shot that managed to miss the muscle. It would be an easy retrieval. 

"No reason to play big man and conceal your pain here, Major. You got shot. The shit hurts. You can let it hurt here." She pressed her stethoscope against his chest. Heartbeat still strong, she noted. Wavering just slightly, but strong. She called for extra hands. "Administer the shot into the upper right shoulder."

John's eyes were on her as she worked. Her brown eyes were gentle and they remained on him as she poked, but her tone was stern as she said, "Major Cleven, if you'd like to stay, you must stay behind that line. Major Egan, you just received a numbing agent to reduce the sensation. The bullet is retrievable. If you feel anything unbearable,  you let me know. I'll stitch you up good as new afterword, am I clear?" 

John’s stomach twisted at her authority. His tongue scraped across the roof of his mouth as he nodded, "Yes ma'am."

"Wonderful. Scalpel, please." 

-

"How is he?" Gale's voice was unclear. He felt groggy. His head was a boulder on his shoulders and he felt confined to the small, yet comfortable bed he laid in. 

"He'll be just fine, Major. He took it like a champ. He'll be out of commission for six to twelve weeks and will be ordered to physical therapy upon return to base. Don't give me that look, now; he is not fit for battle right now, but he will be okay, I can reassure you that. My nurses and I will take good care of him just like we will everyone else."

John heard Gale's sigh of worry. "Okay, you're right. Thank you, Major..." 

She chuckled lightly. "Nessa Dixon." 

"Major Dixon. Thank you for all you've done." 

"No problem at all. You come to me tomorrow if that wrist is still giving you problems and I’ll wrap it again for you, okay? Get some rest, you'll need it." They exchanged goodbyes and the sound of Gale's footsteps retreating became clear. Finally, John's heavy eyelids peeled open. 

"Nice to see you again," she spoke after some time. She was leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into her pockets. and her stethoscope dangling from her neck. "How are you feeling?" She made her way toward him, sitting on the stool she set at the bedside. 

John groaned as he tried to readjust. His shoulder was wrapped tightly. He couldn't move even if he tried. Amelia jumped up and propped a pillow up. "Easy now..."

"Thank you," he replied gruffly. "I'm sore. Tired. And I need a damn drink." 

His response pulled a laugh from her. Not the small chuckle she'd release here and there, no, a hearty laugh. It made him smile. "You and me both. Let's get you up and moving first. Your procedure went well. You are to stay out of combat for--"

"Six to twelve weeks with physical therapy upon return to base," he repeated her words, clearly unamused. Nessa smiled, clearly amused. 

"Good to know you listen," she replied.

John hummed. "I do, Major. Didn't know that was a thing for nurses." He hated to seem painfully ignorant, but it’s what he was at that moment. Nurses in his unit rarely received titles, unless they’d done something extraordinary or had been in service for an extended period. But she, she looked young. Like she couldn’t be much older than he was.

Nessa nodded. She was one of the first Black nurses accepted into the Army Nurse Corps after they began accepting Black women. She worked her way up the chain, she explained, earning the same prestigious he carried. On the same level as a white man whose life was in her hands. Who would've guessed? 

"Nessa is just fine right now," she suggested. "I should let you rest. I'll do one more check before I head out. Major Cleven will be here in the morning, I'm sure. Do you need anything, Major?"

"John," he said gently, tired blue eyes gazing into hers. "And I'm okay. Thank you for everything." 

She gave one nod before leaving him alone and releasing the breath she wasn't aware she held.

-

“Nessa.” The woman sighed heavily and dropped her clipboard against the makeshift desk. Silence wasn’t a thing during war. Constant movement, moaning and groaning, the calling of her name. All she wanted was a moment of silence. It was nonexistent.

“Yes?” She didn’t turn around. But, she recognized the voice. Deep. Full of rasp. The way he said her name. It was familiar. Her eyes dropped to her clipboard, scattered with notes and reports that needed to be sent to the leader physicians. 

“Why are you awake? I thought you were leaving.” 

Her eyes dropped to the watch on her wrist. 1:43am. She’d been up for almost 24 hours. She shrugged and picked up her pen to scribble on the paper more. “I can ask you the same thing, Major. You’re supposed to be sleeping. Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

Finally, Nessa turned around. She regretted it. John Egan was a handsome man. She knew that, but she was too focused on ensuring he didn’t lose his arm to focus on his features. But in this moment, in the dimly lit infirmary with no one else present, she had every opportunity to do so. And, she regretted it. 

He was tall. Much taller than she was. She assumed her head would be at his shoulder, still leaving inches of distance between them. Though his face was littered with scrapes and healing scars, it seemed to illuminate his beauty. His eyes were blue, a strong contrast against his dark, curly hair. A strong nose and straight lips that she was sure felt amazing. His upper lip was cut in the corner and dried blood remained. He must’ve begun anxiously picking at it.

He managed to change his clothes. Major Cleven must have had something to do with that. He was dressed in dark sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She was curious as to how he got his arm through the sleeve, but she’d heckle him about it later in the day. His curls were damp and tousled messily. God, he was beautiful. Bruised and all. 

He chuckled and slowly sat in the chair opposite of her. He groaned softly and readjusted himself to come into a comfortable position. “I can ask you the same question.”

She shrugged, “I’ve got paperwork to do. Go to bed, John. You can’t heal if you don’t rest.” 

“You gonna tuck me in?” John’s tone was teasing. Nessa’s eyebrows raised and the pilot threw his head back as he laughed heartily. It was the first time he laughed with passion in a while, and she couldn’t help but crack a smile as well. 

“You’re in a good mood. Let’s go. You’re going to bed and I’m going to sleep in the infirmary just in case..” She pushed up from her chair and tucked her documents into a folder. She nodded toward the door and the pilot followed suit. 

They walked side by side in silence back to the infirmary, which was near the resting area for the injured who didn’t make it back to their chambers. Luckily, everyone had. Nessa’s eyebrows raised as John lay on the same bed he was on earlier. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m your just in case,” he said simply. He laid his head against the pillow and watched as she stood still. Nessa swallowed thickly. It took her brain extra effort to tell her feet to move. She sat on the edge of the bed to pull her heavy boots off her feet. She sighed in relief. 

Nessa swung her feet on the bed and allowed her body to mold into the comfortable mattress. Her eyelids felt heavy, but still, she found his gaze. “Goodnight, John.” 

“Goodnight, Nessa.” 

Though they did not say anything to one another after that, she found comfort in the silence. They found solace in the quiet of the infirmary that kept them through the rest of the night. Together.

[hotheadedheroprimary]

I had the craziest angst dream last night

It was based on an RP my bestie and I had been working on but, man, my brain knows how to toy with my feelings. Words cannot express how I felt after having this dream, my heart was racing. (Will do this in the form of x reader coz damn)

That day was a tragedy, a devastation to yourself and everyone who knew you. No one could have foreseen such a thing and, yet, a heavy blame was taken upon the two men who had cared for you most. You were all fresh into beginning your careers as heroes, barely a year out of graduation, and it didn't last long for you. Somehow, a group of especially dangerous villains had managed to get the jump on you. They beat you to a pulp and took you into capture, falling out of the radar and becoming completely invisible to anyone who may have had a chance to save you.

You were held in captivity for almost two years. Two years. They tormented and verbally degraded you to no end. To say it was torture was an understatement. You may as well have been crucified and left to hang amongst the vultures awaiting the sweet, bitter end to life. Unfortunately, these monsters were not merciful creatures. At first, they attempted to coax information out of you, seeing if they could unlock all of the inner workings of the pro heroes and utilise this for their nefarious deeds. When it became clear that you weren't so easily broken, they decided that you would make a decent venting dolly. You sought to escape once.

"That was a big mistake... hero."

Due to your weakened state, they quite easily recaptured you and they were not happy. They could have just killed you. Part of you wishes they did. No. Instead, they opted for a more fitting punishment: they took away your quirk. More ridicule and abuse is all that followed, is all you had to keep your wavering sanity occupied.

You felt close to your end.

An eventual rescue tore you away from your imprisonment but at what cost? You couldn't even discern the reality from a nightmare at that point. Your saviours, some heroes on the other side of the country, made sure that you were immediately admitted to a hospital. The physical wounds were in need of major attention but the mental scars ran so much deeper.

It probably would have been easy enough to call all of your friends, to ask for help from a familiar face, but a chain would heavy your hand any time you'd reach for the phone. You couldn't even bring yourself to call your two favourite boys.

With months of gruelling therapy out of the way, you now have a home - a new home - that you can call yours and a typical civilian job to keep the money coming in. You may be somewhat established back into society but you are merely a shell of what once was, a sauntering after image of the person you used to be. It had taken countless sessions just to counter your agoraphobia but a slithery vine is quick to entangle your spine any time you choose to leave your home. The darned thing clenches and digs its thorns in, threatening to jolt your head into a spasm but you always fight the urge.

That day wasn't much different. To begin with, at least.

After your usual mental prepping and throwing your cap on, you take the leap of faith from your doorstep and trudge along for your weekly grocery run. All in all, it seemed it was going to be fairly standard; weave in and out of people, make no eye contact, get the goods, and go home. It wasn't like it was late on your way back either but, with the winter season, that night was soon rolling in. You notice another set of footsteps trailing behind you, which certainly isn't helping. It could just be that pesky paranoia settling in but this person has been hot on your tail for a few minutes now. Still having some streets to go, you curse your blunder in not choosing a location more in-city. In an attempt to get home faster without displaying your fear, you ever so slightly pick up the pace. The individual appears to do the same and you are ready to run. The muscles in your calves tighten in anticipation of a quick escape.

That's when it happened: a chance encounter that reduced you to tears.

"Hey!" an all-too-familiar voice beckons from behind you.

Anxiety prickles your skin for different reasons than before. There's no way it's him. Surely not.

Oh, but it is.

The great hero Dynamight had been making his rounds in the city, keeping an astute eye out for anything amiss but also for you. It may seem outlandish for him to still be looking for you after almost three years but this is Bakugo. He's not one to give up. That's probably why he's grown more calloused in this time. He hasn’t been able to heal. To move on. The night still haunts him though he never lets that show. His cold heart had grown even heavier and colder since that day. He barely says a word - more so than usual. The man eats at himself over the whole situation. What could he have done differently? Is there actually anything he could have actually done? If he can’t even save a comrade, a person he cares so deeply about, is he even worthy of the title of hero? Perhaps that is another driving force to keep searching for you. It may seem crazy but at least he hasn't lost his hope. Not like they did. How could they all just assume you dead like that? How could they give up on a friend? A fellow pro hero? Not him. Not ever and nor Kirishima. That redhead, as much of an idiot as he may be, is the only one who stuck by Bakugo's headstrong tenacity over the years. He shakes the thoughts from his head for about the umpteenth time just that day alone.

It seemed as though it would be another afternoon of quiet. One might say that's a nice change of pace but some individuals like to be kept busy. Bakugo stopped for one of his annoying fans when he caught a flash from the corner of his eye. It almost looked like... no. It couldn't be. Wait... is it? His gaze has never once failed him before. The calls of the young boy were lost to him, his feet moved without his consent. He'd recognise that stupid hat anywhere. It wasn't even a matter of questioning the legitimacy before he was practically tailgating the unsuspecting individual. It didn't take long until it was just the two of them walking along the darkening street. His heart hasn’t beat this hard since that terrible day. He shakes his head, almost grows angry. What if it is you? What will he do? A deep breath. Just keep focusing on the task at hand - one that seems to be slipping from him the longer this cat-and-mouse chase drags out. His tracks aren't exactly subtle given how the freshly falling snow crunches and groans beneath his weight. The speed picks up and he knows he has to say something before his "prey" runs off. He has opened and closed his mouth several times to speak up to her but he backs out every time. Goddamnit Bakugo just say something. He growls to himself and closes his eyes. His fists clench beneath his gauntlets. He can’t believe he is about to do this. He must be crazy.

Finally, somehow managing to find his own voice, he calls out. "Hey!"

He didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to call out that name in case his assumption was wrong. The figure stops and slowly turns around to face him. Bakugo stares a moment longer before slowly walking over to get a closer look. His heart punches against his ribcage when he's no more than a meter in front of that familiar face. There have been some changes, of course, but he would recognise those eyes anywhere - your eyes. He looks back and forth between them before letting out a deep sigh and shaking his head. He closes his eyes and rests a hand on her shoulder, an action that is hesitant but proves the reality of your existence at this moment. All he can do is keep his eyes closed as everything tries to catch up to him. Eventually, he takes in a deep sigh and slowly looks up at you. His expression holds a mixture of sad and relived and some exhaustion like he just got done with a war.

"How long, (Y/n)?"

At first, you haven't a clue what he's talking about until it hits you like a steel pipe to the cheek. You had gotten so caught up in the situation, Katsuki Bakugo slowly trailing towards you with an unease you had never witnessed in him before. Not like this. A million and one thoughts spurry around your head but, at the same time, you are also completely blank. Crimson eyes pierce right into your soul, attempting to coerce your tongue for the words but still nothing. You can't help the nausea in your stomach when it dawns on you just how mad he may get. You already envision the blade of his teeth slicing through you.

"They... I was discharged from a hospital in Hachinohe almost... almost four months ago."

It all comes down on him like a sack of bricks. Understandably, he is pissed - unequivocally burning in damnation of the truth that you are alive and have been roaming the streets for so many months and against his knowledge no less. It doesn't matter if he had been in the middle of a battle; he would have been there for you in a heartbeat. Growing more painful, he rubs at the migraine pounding against his temples. He wipes his forehead as if making up for the fact that there are no tears to dry. He doesn't know how to cry right now. The pressure and strain amidst his palms shake his nerves to no end.

"And you didn't call?!" he screams over his crackling throat. "I would have come for you! We would have come for you!"

How could you call? You were so sure that everyone was better off without you, that you weren't needed in their lives. By the time you had been freed, everyone had become more well-established heroes in society. They don't need you. They moved on. That's how you thought of it, at least. Your attempted explanation of this only angers him further but he breathes past the frustration when he realises how worked up you're getting. What happened to you for you to think such awful things?

"I'm not sure where you got this narrative of not being needed," he sighs and looks away. "Do you have any idea what it has been like without you, dumbass?"

The old nickname slips off his tongue so naturally. He'd always call everyone an idiot, stupid, nerd ironically enough, but dumbass? That was reserved for you and for you only, so for it to be said - to be heard - after two years breaks you.

It had been quite a sight, watching you crumble down to the snow-covered floor. He had knelt down, waiting for you to calm down enough to form coherent sentences again. As cohesive as you could against the waves of rainfall spilling from your face, anyway. When things had eventually calmed, he took you back to your apartment and gave you the chance to speak. You managed to tell him little about what you had been through. Each sentence dwindled beneath the weighing sickness that bubbled in your throat any time you tried to get into detail. One thing really stood out to Bakugo, however. He envisioned the mass murder of those bastards for having done this to you, for rendering you quirkless and making you believe such self-deprecating lies.

That was two days ago. Bakugo insisted on you staying around his just to keep an eye on you. You know better than to refuse his help and it's for his own piece of mind as well as yours. He even took the liberty of calling off work for the rest of the week just to make sure you're okay. He never does that, which is probably why a certain redhead is standing at his door, wide-eyed, gawking at you. Once he had caught wind of Bakugo's absence at the agency, he raced over to make sure everything was okay. He could have never anticipated seeing you. The two of you stare at one another, unable to say anything. You take a stand and open your mouth to say something, anything, but the wind is pushed from your lungs when Kirishima gulps you up into his arms. He cries. God, this man cries and sobs with no yield as he just holds you. Restraints don't appear to exist anymore and you spill again, clutching onto him with unceremonious content. He doesn't ask any questions and just weeps into your shoulder, fearing the worst if he were to let go.

Everyone else had assumed you were dead. Why wouldn't they? After two, almost three, years, why would you believe a person to still be alive? Not them. They kept looking, searching, and scouring every last mineral in this damn country to try and find you. Now they have you back in their lives? They swear by All-Might that you will be waited on, pampered, loved, and cared for until they see the remnants of your old self again. It will take time but they waited this long for you, right?

No time in the world is more worth it.

It's probably worth mentioning that I could very clearly hear the chorus to Childish Gambino's song 'Heartbeat' when Kirishima went in for the hug and now it's stuck in my head.

I should also probably work more on WSA but I think I need to do a few one-shots just to get me back in the groove. I hope you enjoyed and sorry if it feels a bit rushed in some areas :')

Did I proof read it? Unfortunately not.

[caliburn-the-sword]

fhh ch35-40

another day another suffering cause of chloe gong lesgo

scarf and sunglasses look?? did miss chloe just reference the superhero disguise gag in the mcu of sunnies, cap and hoodie?? given she marketed the first book as like captain america,,, it's almost defo the case fvksdjfs

just the entire comedy bit about orion's big head fksdnfs

the way rosalind is inching closer and closer to figuring out that phoebe is priest

omg poor phoebe being approached by her mother's men RIGHT after expressing her abandonment issues

i really hope lady hong's men don't bring back rosalind's blood on the knife a sample for her to study and apply to her supersoldiers,,,

PHOEBE YOU IDIOT WHY WOULD YOU GIVE YOURSELF UP OMG

orion pov again. especially interesting now that he's more or less seeing rosalind in action for the first time

nation over everything? nation over everything, but never you, sweetheart. and yet here celia is, almost choosing not to sacrifice communist agents even if it means she can't save oliver, because of her principles, because she doesn't want to lie. god i love celia. stop giving her the hardest battles i can't take it

ROSORION KISS ROSORION KISS

"to hear a proper laugh and store it away in a place no one could ever take from him again." THAT'S SO KAZ BREKKER CORE I'M THROWING UP. HE WOULD HAVE BOTTLED HER LAUGH AND GOTTEN DRUNK ON IT EVERY NIGHT

orion likes to get bitten confirmed. kinky bastard. i love knowing where all those "rosalind bites people" memes were coming from now fksjdhn

orion IS a prettyboy

alisa is such a little shit i love her. you go you funky little cockblocker

phoebe's identity crisis and being three girls at once because of all the faces she puts on, not knowing who the real one is >>> there's a reason she's my favourite character i'm smashing my head against a wall again and again and again until a crack forms and brings down the entire roof of the house on my head

poor phoebe my eyes are actually burning i will NOT cry but my poor girl

"there was no such reality where Phoebe could have stayed in the shadows forever protecting Orion. Eventually, people had to face their own danger." phoebe is totally gonna expose herself at the nationalist base to save oli

SILAS WHAT THE FUCK. I AM GNAWING THROUGH SOLID WOOD AND METAL WITH MY TEETH. WHAT THE FUCK. HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN. I REMEMBER THE SILAS IS A QUADRUPLE AGENT THEORIES. BUT THIS IS WORSE. THIS IS SO MUCH WORSE. HOW COULD HE BE WITH LADY HONG

phoebe's urge to go all priest on her mum for her betrayal -> she's gonna go all priest on silas. i NEED it

delulu is the solulu i will simply believe that silas is quadruple or quintuple agenting rn until it becomes trululu there is no way he's NOT on our side

"Maybe they ran into each other at headquarters," oh they've run into each other alright celia ksjdnfs (coping with humour is the only thing left for me to do without screaming)

hgdjhb i love orion he's such a little guy for enjoying the wires

"Rosalind and Celia may as well start taking turns on whose mission partner went missing." STOPPPP MISS CHLOE THAT'S FUCKING COLD

SILAS YOU MOTHERFUCKER. N O T H I N G ON PHOEBE??? MOTHERFUCKER. I'M FIGHTING HIM I'M FIGHTING HIM I'M FIGHTING HIM HE HAS NO BUSINESS GOING ON ABOUT THE OLI RESCUE AS IF WE WASN'T TAKING BLOOD FOR LADY HONG. AND THIS IS REALLY BOLD CONSIDERING I DON'T EVEN LIKE OLIVER

I HATE DRAMATIC IRONY THIS IS KILLING ME

silas seems genuine but i don't trust him. i fear he's also brainwashed as lady hong's little spy. he was in london with the others for very long. it would let her have eyes and ears in the two major forces in china, nationalists and commies. or maybe lady hong promised phoebe's safety. who knows

the fact that phoebe was called by her name for the entire chapter, only to be called priest at the end?? chills. also i'm dying

SILAS POV. MOTHERFUCKER

THE FACT THAT SILAS SEES THE MOON AS HE DRIVES TO THE NATIONALIST COMPOUND I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH

SILAS IS A GUILTY BASTARD HE'S CONSCIOUSLY AWARE OF IT

now celia sees the moon. i want to cry

omg oliver was hallucinating celia. that's almost romantic

oh shit japan is bombing

[flickeringart]

The 7th house Neptune setup

The role that connection plays in society and the world at large is evident. Everyone wants social approval, relevance, involvement. We want to be respected, highly regarded, seen as attractive, worthy of attention and interest. This is the sphere of the 7th house in the natal chart and the signs and planets involved are going to describe what kind of experience we expect and will inevitably attract. The 7th house is an angular house, powerful and potent, one of the major corner stones of the chart. The sign, the planet ruling the sign and planets on the Descendant all contribute to what our social standing is going to be like, how we are perceived by the public, how we move and orient ourselves socially and attempt to present ourselves in relationships. The 10th house and the Midheaven is usually paid more attention to than the Descendant because it points to aspirations, "public image" and personal career goals that may or may not have anything to do with what we want from personal interaction with others. The 10th house is squaring the 7th, which tells us something about the inherent friction between these two spheres. The more we seek worldly accomplishments and career goals, the less time we have to accommodate for other individuals. Work demands often put a lot of strain on the quality of partnerships and at some point one is going to have to prioritize which one is more important. The struggle is especially evident in charts where planets in the 10th/7th square each other. Since the planet in the 7th is holding the superior position through being earlier in the succession of signs, it’s often one’s own relationship with other people that motivate and push the native to ”go and do something”, but in this effort, the connection still suffers. 

Professor Jordan Peterson is a great example of someone who embodies this conflict. He has Mars in the 1st, opposite Neptune in the 7th, square Saturn in the 10th (WS). A very powerful but irritating T-square is illustrated here. He’s perceived as someone who’s a straight shooter, forthright, easily irritated and annoyed in his responses, keen on promoting strength and masculinity (Mars). He likes to present himself as tough and strategic (asteroid Pallas is conjunct Mars = strategy). He likes to go to battle and can be quite provocative. He detests people who uses weakness and sensitivity to control and undermine his efforts to stand up for something that matters. These ”people” out there, are depicted as sly, manipulative, slippery, unenlightened, deceptive, trying to discredit men and their behavior (Neptune). Other people are lazy, victims of life, unmotivated, passive and pathetic, delusional and content with coercing other people into adjusting their behavior to protect their bubble reality. He’s a psychologist, which gives him right to acclaim superior knowledge of people’s motivations and internal states in a way that puts him in a position of refusing to be questioned, because ”research proves reality”… it’s true that he has Saturn to back him up on this, but once again we have to remember that the planet earlier in the succession of signs is the one in charge. In this case, Neptune in the 7th, possessing the infantile urge for omnipotence and glory through helping and rescuing people in need is motivating the effort to structure and pin down facts of how success is achieved through Saturn in the 10th. He’s big on helping other people better their lives through concrete steps and understanding of their own psychology and the structure of society at large. He has helped a lot of people who perceive him as some sort of redeemer and messiah, a person with great healing powers capable of bringing people out of misery and onto a path of success. He also displays the stern conviction of Saturn, embodying the myth of the patriarch, the father-authority that's familiar with the underpinnings of reality.

The problem with he 7th house is that it’s often projected and perceived as being ”out there”… the fascination and desire for other people, usually unspoken but felt like a powerful enchantment that belongs partly to oneself but mostly to the other, is attractive but scary at the same time. It’s something that one cannot access except through the physical in-person interaction with other people. Other people has to be a means to redemption for the person. Helpless and sorrowful victims are going to be magnetically drawn in. It can feel like one is being forced to overextend oneself in order to save people left and right, to give something up, to offer a complete sacrifice in order to devote oneself to others. Neptune in the 7th can’t be selfish with others, but this comes at the price of an accumulation of resentment that builds up over time and might spill over in demand of others coming to one’s own rescue in turn. Guilt in the 7th is a byproduct of not being able to save everyone. It also stems from feelings of being weak and ineffectual as a real partner/participator on the social arena and will therefore motivate alliances and cooperation with people who are needy and dependent. With the Mars-Neptune opposition, there’s often a lot of self loathing and beating oneself up over not being strong or tough enough to keep the suffering of other people at bay. Chaos is feared more than anything, usually in the form of other people’s messy emotions. One can’t deal with other people’s drama, weaknesses and attempts to merge and blur the lines between fantasy and reality because it’s just too much. Yet, there's an expectation that this is what should take place, more or less. It’s impossible for one person to listen to everyone, to confirm and validate all experiences, but somehow we all seek vehicles that can provide us with a glimpse of the transcendent. We all want proof of our collective soul union.

[taviokapudding]

Two of the mains reasons why I said don't call me he/him or similarly male adjacent pronouns is because I just don't have a penis & just don't identify with being male, people got mad???

Babes, first of all not everybody needs to know I'm nonbinary- I don't feel like elaborating but given recent behavior in my tiktok dms and comments, I will begrudgingly give clarification

Idk how to explain it without being super direct so apologies if you're uncomfortable by me saying penis but it'll only be mentioned in this paragraph; I have no urge to transition to get a penis nor do I wish to have one attached to me to make myself feel whole- I don't wear a packer and wouldn't/never have sought to wear one if I'm dressed more masculine. I have spoken to a therapist and a few insightful adults- I don't have the bare minimum to mentally be a he/him & it's doubled down by the fact the only penis I'll wear or ride is to peg others/get pleasure from.

Then there's the fact that I wouldn't be welcomed, feel safe, nor be respected in a majority he/him spaces just off my appearance alone. My experience with presenting androgynously/more masculine has negatively discouraged me from seeking out being in those spaces. I'm honored there are men who respect me to encourage me using he/him pronouns but, I'd rather not as things presently are in society in general. Especially when I'm content being a woman.

And lastly- I'm extremely comfortable with my ability to be androgynous, presenting masculine, and presenting in any way with my endometriosis caused facial hair, but I'm simply not okay with strangers in general calling me he/him/sir/daddy. The reality is the majority of strangers who tend to do it to my face- fully irl, they are actively insulting me/trying to pick a fight/being transphobic/misogynistic. A lot of hateful cis and terf-y folks are uncomfortable by my existence- it is what it is, but the fact is I've rarely ever been called "sir" with respect. It's part of the reason why the unprompted "daddy" comments, although mostly positive, still bother me and I'd like to be shut down. Doubly when I'm not cosplaying a male character or doing drag, ya know?

I made my pronouns she/her/they/them because I've finally come to terms with a lot of stuff, but Idk why so many people- especially strangers I genuinely don't know, insist on assuming I'm trans or completely misgendering me.

I know I'm not the ideal pretty or attractive bitch, especially for tiktok's global standards, but fuck what happened to basic level respect? I'm tired of deleting comments and blocking mfs. It's sad and annoying how I've been called a misandrist when I literally just am asking everybody collectively to not misgender me.

Like fellas & cis girlies inparticular, I am honored many of you think I'm a fella too but why don't you respect me enough to accept I'm an androgynous woman who's got a beard sometimes? Why must you disrespect me in order to treat me with kindness?

[locustheologicus]

The Asylees of New York City

As a staff member of Catholic Charities in Brooklyn and Queens I have had the opportunity to help serve the incoming asylee community that has been coming to New York City. Utilizing some of our Churches and offices I have gone out with other staff to visit with this community to offer them information and resources. Recently I had the privilege to sit down and hear some of their amazing stories. Most of these migrants are coming from Venezuela, I would say that the vast majority are from this troubled nation. A small minority also come from Colombia, Ecuador, Cuba and Haiti. When we have the opportunity we provide them with the most basic resources including clothes that have been donated to us from neighboring parishes and Catholic associations and groups.

In sharing their story they tell me about the four to ten day journey they have to go through the jungle which they all say was a very treacherous stretch as they cross into Panama. Then they go through Central America, but its in Guatemala and Mexico that this community faces a grave challenge. Three gentlemen from Venezuela shared with me some details of their journey and as they did so they showed me a video they captured from their cell phone where they were riding the famous Bestia, the Beast. This is the famous train that takes them through central Mexico. In the video you saw them crouched in between two cars as they clung on the train during a bumpy ride. For the younger men I could see that for them this was an adventure, but for the middle aged man who journeyed with them you could see that this was less so.

In 2014 I posted on a powerful movie that captured this journey from Honduras through Mexico and into the deserts of Arizona where migrants are often found dead. The first post, Migrants are Heroes, and the second post, A Migrant's Prayer, were two reflections that I had from this movie which was called "Who is Dayani Crystal."

As it was 2014 this movie continues to offer a powerful insight into the reality of this journey and the reasons for this. I urge anyone who is interested in understanding this issue to watch this documentary. If you have the opportunity to serve this community get to hear their stories and see for yourself why they come and what they go through to get here.

As I hear their stories no there were three parts of their journey that really has struck me.

As I already mentioned, this community is coming from South America rather than Central America (in 2014 the vast majority of the immigrants were from Central America) so their journey goes through the dense jungle between Colombia and Panama. They call it, El Darien, which is a jungle with a river that becomes an extremely difficult region to cross especially when the harsh seasonal rains come, and unfortunately this is the rainy season. Based on the weather asylees can take four to ten days crossing this landscape. They tell me that along the way they find decomposed bodies of other migrants who were not as lucky. This is just a reality for them as they cross into Central America. I hear from many of them how treacherous this part of the journey is.

Mexico is dangerous. One man went into detail on how our politics has shifted their experience in Mexico. Once they get to the border with the United States they used to be able to count on the assistance of the Coyotes (folks who charge migrants and assist them in crossing the border). In the Dayani Crystal movie you see how Coyotes would, for a fee, assist the migrants in getting them to part of the border where they have the greatest chance to cross over. The situation is different today. Because migrants are able to go through an asylee process once they cross they do not need these Coyotes to help out. So the Coyotes have changed their business model and instead of serving the migrants they now serve the Mexican local government who look to see how they can charge these migrants and take financial advantage of them. The Coyotes take these migrants and "accidently" loss their documents and then report them to the local authorities who will either scare these migrants into paying for their lost documents or deport them to the south of Mexico where they will have to start the journey again. Because of this and because this corruption are in towns that have a strong narcotrafficking area certain areas that were famous for crossing are sometimes avoided.

I was told that not all the Mexican communities are hostile to these immigrants. But what stand out to many of them is the role of the Catholic Church in serving them. They have talked of basic services that some parish communities provide but there are even well developed or developing organizational agencies that are founded by the Catholic Church that offers various resources to this community. Beyond being supplied with basic needs these Church stations along the way also provide information and guidance so that the asylees not fall victim to the gangs of narco-traffickers and corrupt coyotes or municipal officials. It is heartwarming to hear how our Catholic Church is experienced as a place of sanctuary and hope for this community. It is equally heartwarming to see that we can provide that consistent experience to this community here in the United States.

It is humbling to be a part of this community's journey and to share in the pilgrimage they have done up to now. I remind them that their journey is not over. Their situation continues to be perilous and they must continue to take care as there are those here who would also take advantage of their vulnerable status.

For our part we are focused on helping this community and helping them with finding whatever resources the community is providing through the Asylee Seeker Navigation Center.

As I close this reflection on the asylees we have met and serve I want to again repost the migrant prayer that Gael Garcia Bernal shared with us in the documentary above. It is a beautiful prayer that speaks to the solidarity that they have with God and the solidarity we are also called to have with them. May this prayer be one that we all pray as we recognize that we are all pilgrims here on earth and perhaps we can recognize that the asylee's pilgrimage are social indications of issues that we need to face and take responsibility for.

The journey towards you, Lord, is life. To set off… is to die a little. To arrive is never to arrive until one is at rest with you. You, Lord, experienced migration. You brought it upon all men who know what it is to live who seek safe passage to the gates of heaven. You drove Abraham from his land, father of all believers. You shall remember the paths leading to you, the prophets and the apostles. You yourself became a migrant from heaven to earth.

May we continue to provide whatever assistance we can to these pilgrims as they try to find a new hope from the social and political unrest they leave behind.

[theriverdalereviewer]

this resurgence of the housewife is concerning

[eth3real-ess3nce]

My Astro Observations (Part 6)

☁️Mars - Neptune aspects can make you clumsy. Mars rules the physical and Neptune tends to fog reality a bit so... you partly tend to lack the awareness of how your body moves most of the time.

👀People with water risings are prone to dark circles.

🌱I have noticed that individuals with capricorn placements loooove being plant parents. They love taking care of their plants and they enjoy getting to know little facts about them.

💘Venus in Aries people might have struggled with accepting love. At least once in their lives they have thought that "they are hard to love".

🤫Mars in 8th in synastry always manifests in either (or both) of these 2 ways: a) sexual relationship that occurs secretly. b) sexual relationship that is "taboo". I have observed this placement between people where one person is married / large gap relationships or simply two people who want to keep their sexual relations hidden for some reason.

👨Mars in Capricorn / 10th house... you just wish that you received an apology from your father or that he would give credit for your hard work.

🙃Moon in Libra tends to suppress their "hard" emotions a lot, especially anger and frustration. They believe that they shouldn't overburden other people with such negative emotions or they simply want to keep their kind & pleasant image towards others. They are social butterflies, but they keep their true feelings behind closed doors.

💃Gemini risings have such musical movements! They might bust a move out of nowhere or on their way towards doing something casual. Their movements and mannerisms are so lively it's quite enjoyable for me to observe so. In parties, you'll never see them simply standing, by the way.

🦷The moon/venus in aries/gemini urge to bite your partner out of nowhere as a love language.

🤳Leo risings tend to take too many selfies / photos of themselves. Good for them, though. ( you guys look good )

✨Venus in 11th house people are so well-liked online. There's something about them that people admire and feel drawn to. They're probably artists sharing their artwork online for others to see. Charming online personas. People crushing on them without seeing them up close.

😆The Mercury in Sagittarius/Aquarius urge to laugh so loud everybody in the near 3 blocks hear you.

🤵Venus - Saturn aspects, Venus in Capricorn, Venus in 10th house: your absolute love and admiration for older men, men in suits, motivated and stable men. Also , for some of you , your father was old enough when your parents had you (probably up to 30-35+ years old) so you naturally go for much older guys.

🤩Sun/Venus in Pisces men? Major casanova aspect and nobody talks about it! Unevolved ones don't cheat/entertain multiple women because they're 'bored' or anything like that, but mostly because they are constantly after their ideal partner. They are chasing their own fantasy and they won't fully commit to one person until they fulfill it. 🙅

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

[cancerjupiter]

🔥 fire venus 🔥

 venus in aries

ex: lily james, rihanna, marilyn monroe, lady gaga, tyler the creator, mariah carey, audrey hepburn, rdj, freud, gigi hadid, chris martin, melanie martinez

they are driven to impress others, show them new things and new experiences. they need to excel in their chosen field and feel in charge, directing the action. however, in relationships, they’re also attracted to strong-willed people - which often leads to conflicts. if they like you, they’re very direct and spontaneous. their greatest charm is their straightforwardness in social interactions, often combined with daring humor. if things go badly, however, their mood can change to combatively defensive and oversensitive. they’re not known for subtlety, and often like violent sports. fighting is natural for them, and they admire others who fight for causes. they highly value independence and always want to be number one, no matter what. they are not very patient and are terrified of boredom.

express affection directly, impulsively, enthusiastically; in love with the honeymoon phase of relationships.

assertive and demanding, which can add difficulty to intimacy.

values independence above all, in self and others

aries venus can be fiercely proud of their romantic attachments and loved ones. they can be very emotional, but rarely would you describe them as deeply feeling. they’re not very romantically sentimental or sympathetic; they prefer to be direct and blunt. the men are self-centered and not very giving; the women aren’t very patient or stereotypically feminine. the women don’t like overly gentle or patient men, preferring them to be aggressive and “compete” with her; they’re a true contradiction and quite complex. both like “quickies” and can be almost insatiable sexually, although quite selfish.

they can be selfish in relationships since they push their own ideas about how it should go, instead of talking about it with their partner. relationships start with a BOOM but fizzle easily since aries is not known for its longevity. they’re always looking for excitement, daily. they like to be enthusiastic and positive and let no one walk over them, even if they’re not overly assertive.

venus in leo

ex: fiona apple, madonna, mj, nicole kidman, tom cruise, amy winehouse, jlaw, whitney houston, niall horan, jason momoa, dua lipa, asap rocky, hitchcock

these people do nothing halfway. when committed, they can show remarkable loyalty. the problem is that they can go to such extremes of misplaced and impractical loyalty, that it outdoes common sense of objectivity. their reactions, while warmhearted, are well calculated and not at all spontaneous. as Grant Lewi points out, “No one with Venus in Leo has ever been talked into anything”. they want to make sure the right effect and use their affections to get what they want. 

they possess sharply contrasting qualities: sincerity and generosity combined with a superior attitude towards others, and showing jealousy over others’ success. they have a huge, vulnerable ego and the merest “slight” is taken as a major offense: try leaving them on read too often or not showing up to their party. they’re very proud of their relationships and need to feel respected and admired by all. their greatest gift is probably their ability to vitalize others through their faith in them, conveying a warmth of encouragement to anyone who needs it.

express affection warmly, dramatically, playfully, and enthusiastically.

the need to be the center of attention or dominant force of a partner's life can encumber deeper intimacy.

can be extremely generous and loyal.

leo venus is rather in love with dramatic love. they crave grandeur and excitement, often staging affectionate displays or romantic situations. they have tremendous pride over their relationship and their own wonderful generous qualities (yes; they know how good they can be). although they’re easily offended by real or imagined insults, they’re quite insensitive to others’ feelings unless it’s related to the leo venus, somehow. a constant need for praise is their most tiresome feature, and they have an enormous weakness for flattery, one way they can be emotionally manipulated. at worst, they’re so self-centered they can’t relate on a simple, sincere human level and use others for self-aggrandizement. and if so, they can end up lonely, petty, and indignant.

they want to do a lot for their beloved, and make sure they enjoy every moment spent with the leo venus, and certainly don’t mind if other people notice their magnificent generosity. their own sense of identity is sometimes so tied up with their primary relationship, that they often go into crisis if things end, badly or not. they like physical demonstrations of affections, but are not very receptive on a true feeling level. they stimulate these displays of “love” in you, especially if in need of affection, but they can also drop you like a stone if they find someone who can praise them better and you’re not delivering.

their responses to love and affection are lavish, open-hearted and almost childish. the urge to spread sunshine throughout their partner’s life is genuine. flattery will get you everywhere with them, but make sure to keep this up if you intend to maintain a relationship. they can also be very sexual and give as good as they take.

venus in sagittarius

ex: joan baez, david bowie, nicki minaj, billie eilish, kendall jenner, jake gyllenhaal, jimi hendrix, jane fonda, mac miller

their reactions to life are rather happy-go-lucky and philosophical, explaining how resilient they are when confronted by the cruelty of life. some call it shallowness or avoidance of true feelings. take your pick, but it’s hard to stay mad when they disappoint. they’re often fickle and hard to please, but that’s due their chronic lack of satisfaction. they have a hard time dealing with routine, tedious reality, and facing the practical limits of life. they don’t enjoy living in the moment.

for them, there’s always room for improvement, and their philosophy of life is optimistic, always thinking a better reality exists just over the hill. they love surprises and you can expect anything from them. a need for space and freedom is essential for them: both mentally (learning, discussion, debate) and physically (activities, sports, traveling). they are also brutally honest about others’ hypocrisy or negligence, although they react to their own truth with a shrug because of their inflated self-image.

expresses affection freely, enthusiastically, generously and idealistically. motivated by an inner trust and faith in love.

tolerant and open-minded attitude toward love with a need for alignment of ideas; values honesty but may be insensitive to feelings.

sag venus wants to be hard, or at least noticed, in any social situation. and in a close relationship, the sharing of ideas and philosophical harmony is necessary for it to last. but for it to last even one evening, there has to be a common sense of humor or type of entertainment, since they can’t stand boredom and are naturally humorous people. they like exploring their relationship and often ask their partner some probing questions and enjoy teasing statements. honesty is, again, valued above all else, but they can be extremely insensitive and dismissive of others’ feelings and needs because of it. their casual remarks do real damage and reveal an irresponsible, and self-centered attitude towards love and sex.

they’re tremendously enthusiastic and unprejudiced about love and sex, and their sexuality is often not straight. they’re fun, but you can never flatter or praise them. you’ve got to earn their respect and usually glow with self-confidence to intrigue them. this venus placement is found in many who are impulsive and generous with affections; they are demonstrative, but also rather impersonal in their relationship approach, although quite charming. being a fun “pal” comes easier than being a truly intense lover; and the fact they grant their partner vast amounts of freedom reveals they like to maintain a level of personal distance, without restraint or heavy expectations. 

these people see no reason why emotions shouldn’t be followed, and usually discount the importance of material things if their partner can’t offer them (unless there’s heavy Taurus on the chart).

[talkingharrystyles]

🌌This will be my only post addressing Brock’s present and future antics, as giving her the spotlight, every time she moves, is ENABLING her.

It’s, also, unfair that the one who is spending time actually working in regards to his job (tour) is and will have his job (tour shows) hijacked by the one who spends her days sitting around doing nothing but running her mouth to tabloids by telling them what stories to print.

Damn, Brock. DO SOMETHING CONSTRUCTIVE.

Upload a skincare or makeup tutorial. Learn how to cook. Wash the car. Mow the lawn. Learn a new language with your kids. Raise your credit score. Learn about investments and stocks. Create a YOUTUBE account to bs your directorial “advice” for new directors- DO SOMETHING.

As Harry & Co. and Jason & the Gang. have been enabling her insanity, so have fans who still track, consume, and magnify whatever antics she does daily.

The Brockettes (my new name for Holivians)…the Brockettes are a special subset of irrationality.

I’m pretty sure once the Brocky Horror Show completes, they will turn on her and be the on the frontlines of a smear campaign, using all the evidence that others discovered, to “hurt her for hurting our baby Harry”.

The majority of Brockettes are absent of logic, and are attracted to delusion and the distortion of reality, as it helps them make sense of their illogical worldviews.

Others are only supporting to atone for their past mistreatments of his past partners or PRs.

A few are simply not as educated on the topic of PR to see the truth.

Not discussing Brock will not magically end the contract.

That’s a matter strictly between the two parties who signed it.

Not sure why some are thinking that if you ceased talking about her, that will cause the end of a signed contract to happen.

The contract ends on the agreed date.

Or, in the event that something serious happens to where ending it prematurely is necessary (ie criminal standing actions).

Otherwise, no discussion does not correlate to the contract ending before it’s appointed time.

No discussion means that you learn to persevere through this circus by disengaging, or selecting which topics of Harry you want to focus on.

For those who are still (and will be with future actions) bothered, remember what I said: all of hers (and Harry’s participation) acts are nothing more than deflection to force people to forget that Harry chose not to acknowledge her as someone, not necessarily his girlfriend, apart of his personal life.

Brock is and will continue to play her stale game of misdirection: form of deception in which the performer draws audience attention to one thing to distract it from another.

How do I and others knows this?

She betrayed herself in Vogue where she spoke of her urge (ie “temptation”) “to recorrect a false narrative”.

Again, BROCK IS AN IDIOT.

For new readers, and to those who missed my explanation as to why I renamed her, Brock:

1) thinking of and writing her name pains my mind. It’s akin to hearing someone chewing so loudly that you hear EVERYTHING. Including them swallowing.

2) Brock encapsulates EVERYTHING she is. Desperate to be cool, a slob, lazy, and dense. So dense that she would the one to ask,

When women give birth to babies, why aren’t they asked to take a DNA test, as men are? I get it that she carried the baby, but this seems so fucking sexist and misogynistic that women don’t have to take DNA tests, as men do. Especially since women are the ones who give birth to babies. This is just so fucking unfair to women. How can we be so sure that she’s the real mom? Yes, she carried the baby since his conception and the nine months, but how can we be so fucking sure that she’s the real mom, though? Nah, man, f$@& that s*#t! That is another form of the patriarchy trying to oppress women by refusing to perform DNA tests, on mothers and the babies they delivered, to confirm paternity.”

Or, “How do we breathe in cars since the windows are up and the doors are closed? There’s no openings for new air to enter in. So how do people not suffocate in their cars when they’re traveling so long? How does new oxygen enter in? Is it like swimming? You hold you breathe, and then open the windows every so often to let new air get in? Do you drive, and stop every few minutes to get out, inhale air, and then get back into your car to repeat the cycle, until you reach where you’re going?”

Even argue, “I don’t get why people bitch about me not spending time with my kids. London’s time is ahead of the US. When I flew to go to H’s shows, I went back in time because the US’ time is BEHIND London. London is hours ahead in the future. So I did spend the days with my kids, and once the days ended, I just time traveled back to the same day to see Haz. I never abandoned time with my kids. I just learned that the time zones are time traveling portals. People need to stop being so fucking jealous of me. They’re the stupid ones who haven’t learned how the time zones work.”

*Pardon me, while I scream from the illogical mental torture. Please for the love of truth, logic, common sense, science, and reality, cease from letting someone who rationalizes this way invade your thoughts and emotionally disable you.“

Everything you see is NOT everything that truly is.

Be selective on what you want to focus on.

Disengage when necessary.

🌌

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Of Academic Interest

Fandom: Indiana Jones

Collection/Series: Tribute to/Part of @alloftheimaginesblog ‘s ‘Secret’s Out’ Saga world.

Pairing: Indiana Jones x Plus Size Female History Lecturer Reader (Glasses are mentioned very briefly)

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T 

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You’re one of the newest history lecturers and Indiana turns up to watch your open lecture on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead

Notes: I love Angela’s Secret’s Out Saga, i’m happy that I get to send her requests and see the amazing things she writes for it and lately i’ve been getting the urge to write something for the world/au/series. 

This is a homage, a tribute, to it, obviously none of this is canon unless Angela says so. 

This is set before Indy and the Reader are dating.

All facts come from an essay I did at university on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead, which I also did an hour long presentation on. 

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You were relatively new to the history department at Marshall College and were somewhat of a novelty to students and staff alike having only been there for a few months. Being one of the few female professors and on top of that specialising in some more taboo or ground breaking historical takes on the history of gender and sexuality, you had successfully caused quite the stir. 

The majority of your colleagues were accepting, happy to have you and generally interested by your studies and research. Despite being relatively new to academic teaching they were supportive, although there was a small subsection of the humanities department who, in typical old man fashion, talked down to you, treated you like a coffee girl and disrespected your expertise. You had taken to stealing their students from their modules and attracting them to your modules instead as a passive form of fighting back.

Students were clamouring to be taught by you, to get onto the list for your modules or to get to see your open lectures. You were the only member of the faculty who talked about the more riveting elements of history such as prostitution, sexualisation, and even ghosts. In comparison to the same lectures on Anglo-Saxon England and the Civil War, you were significantly more interesting to the student population. That did not, however, remove sexism within the student population. While female students actively enjoyed your lectures, got involved more so than in other modules, and felt a sense of comfort in a more female friendly space, you found that a small portion of the student male population tried at every turn to either explain your own specialism to you or to discredit you. You had long since taken to finding it rather amusing, especially when most of those individuals were failing your course. 

You had been asked many months ago to prepare an open lecture on the history of surgery and medicine, the faculty head had told you to pick any topic you wished so long as it was well researched and you could put on a good lecture for the student population. For some it might well be their first ever history lecture, for others it was just an addition to their usual workload, nonetheless you’d chosen a topic that was of interest to you and that you felt confident presenting. 

Standing before a podium in a large lecture hall, you push your glass further up the bridge of your nose and flick through the pages of notes in front of you to temporarily distract yourself from the crowds of people that were slowly making their way inside and to seats. It was a large hall, one that could hold upwards of 200 people and despite years of public speaking under your belt there was always an anticipation, a sense of nerves, before you began a lecture or presentation. 

You checked the microphone on the podium, happy to find it in working order and smiled at a few familiar faces in the front row, some of your students who had apparently decided to spend their free period listening to you talk some more. Checking the time you waited a few more minutes before choosing to start, letting the last stragglers find a seat or for those unlucky enough to stand at the back after all seats were filled. It was a large turn out and you could feel those nerves buzzing in the pit of your stomach as you cleared your throat and picked up your notes. 

“Good morning, everyone! Thank you for coming despite your busy schedules to hear me drone on once more about dead people,” Light laughter and small chuckles filled the space as you began, your students looking at each other with a shake of their heads. “Today i’m going to be talking to you about something called the Cult of the Beautiful Dead in Victorian medicine. Specifically surgery.” 

You find yourself drifting from the podium, pacing across the stage even as this requires you to speak louder without the microphone. There is a familiar energy in your body that demands you move as you speak, to expend it in some physical way. “The Cult of the Beautiful Dead pervaded the world of art within the 18th and 19th centuries. It has been defined as ‘a subjective fascination with idealised images of the deceased in such a way that permanently embalmed bodies and stable images displace and replace impermanent reality’, but I would characterise it within medical and surgical art somewhat differently.”

You stop briefly, give yourself time to breathe and them time to process your words, in that brief moment your eyes glance across the crowd and spot a familiar face that makes your cheeks warm and your heart stutter. Professor Henry ‘Indiana’ Jones Junior. 

Professor Jones was known throughout the history and archaeology department for his digs, his finds, and his immense knowledge, that and his good looks and charming persona. He was friendly, enticing, handsome, and treated you as an equal. While you could not consider yourself friends, you did have a healthy respect and rather decent crush on the man. In fact, the only reason you weren’t friends, you suspected, was your inability to talk around the man without stuttering. He had no reason to be at your lecture, but he’d come anyway, in fact it looked as if he were the only member of the archaeology department present. 

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away and continue, “It is the idealised image of the female body on the dissection room table or the surgical bed with her flowing hair, her soft, pale skin, her perfect, unharmed nature and her sexualised passivity which characterises the Cult of the Beautiful Dead within medical art. On your seats you would have found copies of a painting by Henri Gervaux and an illustration by Hasselhorst, I will be talking today about these pieces of art and how they fit in with the realities of the dissection room.” 

You move across the stage again, wait as they find out their papers and find yourself looking over at Dr Jones again. He is intent in his observations of the papers in his hands, interested, actively engaged and that is a bigger compliment than anything you think. It would be heartbreaking, you decide, if he were bored by or disinterested in your lecture. While you don’t need his approval, you are an academic in your own right, you do desire it. 

You continue on when he looks up, shifting your eyes away quickly, “In the 19th century women were less likely to be patients of surgeons than men and even when they were operated on they were by no means symbols of the Cult of the Beautiful dead. See Before the Operation by Henri Gervaux,” You wait for them to find the print of the painting, “It is a portrait of Dr Pean, a French Surgeon, and depicts the moment before an operation on a young woman and fits into the ideal of the Cult even though the woman is anaesthetised and not dead.” 

In this fashion you continue your lecture, moving across the stage discussing the sexualisation of the female body in medical art and the realities of surgery in comparison. You’re highly aware of Dr Jones’ eyes on you as you move across the stage, to the point that you stumble at points in your oration. As time goes on you find yourself relaxing under his gaze, accepting that he is here purely out of interest, not to judge you or pass criticism. His active engagement with your lecture, the notes you can see him scribbling down in a notebook, is rewarding and reassures you that he is enjoying himself even on a topic so far removed from his own studies of ancient civilisations and centuries old artefacts and skeletons. 

You reach the end of your lecture, returning to the podium and straightening your skirt, “Are there any questions?”

Hands pop up across the room, but it is one in particular that you are drawn to. You don’t expect him to ask questions, you don’t expect him to have any, but you are a little scared to hear what he has to say. It shouldn’t scare you, this active academic engagement, the meeting of minds, but you so desperately do not want to make a fool of yourself. 

“Dr Jones?” You gesture for him to go on and ask and he stands in response. Tugging at the tweed waistcoat and adjusting his glasses on his nose.

He smiles at you as he begins, “Dr Y/L/N,” He addresses you by your title, formal and respectful. You are reminded, once more, that he has never failed to treat you as an equal. Unlike some of the other male professors, “I was just wondering what your opinion was on the eroticisation of death in this period?” You let out a little laugh, for no reason other than a little relief at the ease with which you can answer that question. 

“Thank you for your question Dr Jones, well art such as Hasselhorst’s helped to eroticise death in the 18th and 19th centuries, death became equated with beauty, even if the reality of the dissection room failed to live up to the standards of the Cult of the Beautiful Dead. What we see is death portrayed often as a young woman. She is often portrayed as beautiful with long flowing hair, a fair face, a soft pale body, naked, open to the eye and most importantly passive. The dead woman in this period is a passive object, dead, yet sleeping, immortally captured at her most beautiful and unable to object to any sexualisation or objectification. She cannot talk back. Death is an obsession of the Victorians and it’s prevalence in medical art like Hasselhorst’s shows just how deeply connected death, beauty and the erotic became at this time.”

“Do you think we’ve continued that desire for passivity today? The way in which we expect women to act?” 

“What do you think, Dr Jones?” You turn the question back on him, eager to hear his opinion, knowing that your own certainly sees the way 1930s society demands passivity from women even if death is no longer eroticised in the same way. 

“I think we’ve perpetuated that desire for passivity from women within our society, demanded they hold their tongue, keep themselves in check and in place and as objects of desire, but not too much or else they’re no longer respectable. I think we expect women to be passively sexual, unknowingly so, innocently so, yet they must be attractive else their worth is diminished. An outspoken or intelligent woman is demeaned, pushed out from academics or workplaces. Don’t you agree?”

“I do.” You take a moment, give him a smile before answering the next question and the next and the next. You expect him to leave like many of the other members of the audience once his question has been answered, instead he stays, listens to your responses to each question and pays you rapt attention. 

You find yourself even more interested in Dr Jones than you were before. His acknowledgement of the treatment you and other women have faced when attempting to make a name in a career or in academics is refreshing and his engagement with your lecture is enjoyable and endearing. You curse him a little for making your crush, your infatuation deeper simply by coming to your lecture. 

You find yourself packing up your notes at the end, listening to the sound of feet leaving as you grab your notes and stuff them into your leather satchel. A tall shadow falls over you as you heft the bag onto your shoulder and you smile up at Dr Jones as he stands before the podium notebook in hand, he folds the glasses off of his nose and pockets them. 

“How did you enjoy the lecture, Dr Jones?” You run an anxious hand through your hair and twist your wide hips in a nervous movement, always finding yourself a little flustered when one on one with the man. There’s a part of you that worries about coming under scrutiny from him, the part that has so often been judged in life for your gender, your area of study, and your weight. Years of nasty comments, suggested diets and family obsession with the size of your body had created a paranoia almost, a sense of expectation. You were just waiting for the scrutiny to be voiced.

“It was one of the most interesting lectures I've had the pleasure of watching. You should write a book, it might be a worthy next research project and please call me Indiana.” 

“Only if you call me by name. I think we can both drop the doctor? I wasn’t expecting to see you here, I...I didn’t think the Victorians would interest an archaeologist.” In truth the idea of Indiana Jones wanting to learn about people not long dead, a period which rarely requires archaeological excavation and has few true mysteries, had never crossed your mind. 

“In all honesty?” There’s a pause as he looks away from you with a charming smirk before turning back to you, teeth showing through his smile. “You interest me. I’ve read all your books, all your papers, every time you lecture I stop at the door and listen. You’re a compelling orator.”

“You listen to my lectures?” You can feel warmth flooding your cheeks, your neck, your ears at his admission. Feel a familiar sense of butterflies flapping about in your stomach. You look down briefly, smiling at the ground before meeting his blue eyes again.

“When I have time, surprised you haven’t noticed me hovering in the doorway. You really are one of the best academics I've ever met.”

“I...thank you.” You’re a little lost for words, you have barely shared more than a few polite conversations with Indiana, too intimidated to talk in depth with him and yet here he is extolling your values and praising you. 

“Don’t let Dr Carr convince you otherwise.” He taps his fingers in a rhythm on the wood of the podium, looking away from you and towards the door where you can see the much older Dr Carr standing waiting impatiently for you to leave the room for his next lecture. 

“You heard...the other day.” You think back to the argument you’d gotten into with the old professor over his sexist attitude towards you, his constant demeaning comments. You had thought it had been a private argument, but it seems not. You were still rather angry about the whole thing in truth.

“Yeah, look he’s old school. Doesn’t think women should have degrees or PhDs, ignore him. You’re a better academic by far and he’s just angry that he’s been passed over for the chair again. He’s a washed up old academic, he’s only still got a job because the Dean feels bad for him.” He says the last part loudly, on purpose you’re sure, loud enough for Dr Carr to hear and turn a glare on him. You know he won’t say anything to him though, Dr Jones was the university’s prized archaeology professor, he brought in more artefacts than the other’s combined and more students. Dr Carr wouldn’t say a bad word against him. Couldn’t. It was enjoyable to watch the old fuddy professor go red in the face and huff at the doors. 

“I don’t know what to say. I...Thank you. I know we don’t...we don’t really talk, but thank you, I. It’s been hard joining the faculty, it’s a very masculine environment and I...it’s nice to know there’s someone in my corner.” You think to your Grandfather telling you that academics would make you barren, cause you to go insane, think to your mother telling you to find a nice husband and settle down, that you should desire the life of a housewife alone. It has been very difficult simply getting this far and to know you have him in your corner, someone in your corner means a great deal, in a new city, a new job, a new career. 

“Always.” The two of you stand there in silence, just staring at each other, despite the impatient noises being made at the door by Dr Carr. You grip the satchel strap tighter over your shoulder and tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“Would you like to get some coffee?”

“Now?” You don’t have any more lectures for the day, just your office hours later to answer any student questions, but the offer still surprises you. 

“Yeah, I don’t have a lecture until later and...if you’re free I have more questions.” He holds up the notebook, little post notes coming out of the side, it’s thick from writings and usage. It flatters you that he’s so interested in what you have to say, in your mind. You think it might be more of a compliment than anything physical. 

“So it’s entirely professional then, Dr Jones?” You’re not sure where the confidence comes from to cause the words to fall from your lips, to cause a little smirk to lift at them as you look at him over the top of your glasses. Flirtation is one area you are not confident in, despite it all. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say entirely, sweetheart...I’d like to get to know you better.” He’s utterly too charming for his own good you think and too charming for your poor little heart, but despite any concerns you have, any worries about his intentions you still find yourself agreeing. You’ve wanted to get to know him better for so long, too scared to talk to him in more than passing that you can’t let this opportunity pass you by. Refuse to. 

“That sounds...lovely.” 

“Shall we?” He offers his elbow out to you and you take it, wrapping your arm through his and pulling yourself to his side. He is taller, broader, and warmer than you. He smells woodsy and a little like black coffee and everything about this moment has your heart skipping a beat. 

“We shall.”  

You take great pleasure in the dissatisfied sneer on Dr Carr’s face as the two of you walk arm in arm out of the lecture hall. 

                                                            ----

Taglists: 

@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929  @trasheater

[whirlybirbs]

MOONLIT DUNES.    ;    boba fett / reader     ;     1 / ?

summary: you’ve found many things in the dunes. a gravely injured mandalorian is a new thing to add to the ever growing list. set directly after return of the jedi. 

word count: 3.5k

pairing: boba fett / scavenger!reader

tags: some body horror, injury mention, boba loses his leg, reader does first aid,  the great pit of carkoon really did one on our man

a/n: my hand slipped i swear.............. (this has been in the works since may)

In all your years spent drifting about the land of Tatooine, you’ve found many things in the dunes.

Rare racing pod parts that had been discontinued after years of upgrades... Discarded weaponry, no doubt used for something more nefarious than Bantha hunting... and many, many skulls, sentient and otherwise.

Such comes with the life of a scavenger — live off the land and the things buried deep; harvest trinkets of lives long since forgotten in the ever changing tides of glittering sand.

However, never in your life —  in all the days spent beneath the twin brother suns —  have you ever found someone alive in the dunes.

Until today, that is.

You should have known venturing North of Mos Eisley was a bad idea. After all, the plains beyond the space port were ridden with starved sarlacc pits. But, with Tanto — the resident Junk Boss — down your throat about catching up on your few owed debts, you’d decided to weigh the risk and trek on towards the looming beast on the horizon: the Great Pit of Carkoon. With any luck, you’d be able to scavenge what little undigested pieces the massive creature had belched back up — maybe some Gamorian armor, or a blaster or two — after one of Jabba’s usual disposal runs.

Ah, Jabba.

Rumor had it that Jabba Desilijic Tiure was dead.

You knew better than to ask about mere rumors being tossed around the clock-out lines as you turned in your hauls for the day. Like you did every evening, you kept your head down. But, you did listen. You always listen — and from what you could gather, there’d already been a few scavenging parties dispatched to the Northern region.

Something about a jedi, a princess and a hell of a mess.

Not that any of that mattered — because dwelling on some fantastical retelling of a lie by Frokop Golp, the resident drunk swindler, wasn’t going to keep you fed. You were hoping that at the least, the part about one of Jabba’s sail barges going down by the Great Pit of Carkoon wasn’t a lie. Then, you could maybe find a few transistor coolant coils...

The dawning realization that you were betting another day’s ration portion on a spun half-truth embellished by the local drunkard hits you as your dewback, a kindly older male you’d named Scud, finally reaches the crest of the highest dune overlooking the Carkoon wastes. For a moment, as you squint into the setting sun, you wonder if this is even going to be worth it.

You sigh, adjusting the light linen face covering over your nose and mouth, and gently urge Scud forward.

No use in dwelling. You’re already here.

“Hup.”

As you near, the wreckage seems to have been picked over completely. Scud plods slowly towards the wreck, tail swatting cautiously as the sarlacc a few meters ahead gives a low hiss at the vibrations riling it awake through the sand. You rock with the slow canter, one hand on the horn of the saddle and the other moving to reach behind you to your pack.

There rests a longspear — the top is crowned with the head of a gaderffii. You’d made it ages ago, well before your fifteen birthday, and it had become as much as a steadfast companion as Scud himself. With a flick and a satisfying click, the longspear extends from it’s compacted state. Resting the butt end against your forearm as Scud continues his meandering pace, you run the spear tip through the sand to your left.

No give.

The dunes creating a wall around the beast’s mouth stand strong. Over the large ridge, and a handful of meters away, tentacles swing eagerly through the air like malicious little whips, hungry for their next meal. The hulking beast, well over 10,000 years old, knows you’re here now — the desperate moan from it’s gaping maw is enough of an indication of that fact.

For now, keeping your distance and guiding Scud towards the barge, you’re safe.

The party barge had certainly seen better days — seems like a bolt from the main gun had ruptured a fuel line below the deck. Half submerged in an encroaching dune, you’re not surprised to be greeted by the foul stench of sun-rotting corpses as you hop down from Scud. Your boots, made of stretched and tanned Bantha hide, kick up a cloud of dust when you land.

Even with the twin suns beginning to set, the sand is hot.

There are footpaths leading to the barge, partially washed away by the wind pulling the sand closer to the mangled helm of the ship. Patting Scud’s neck as you pass, you grip your staff tightly — one tap of the durasteel spear to the twisted hole in the starboard side sends a scattering hiss of a pack of womp rats caught lounging in the evening shade. Carefully, you duck beneath the warped siding and over the lip of metal, eyes flicking around the cavernous sail barge.

The engine room is where you find yourself… or, well, what’s left of it. The engine has since bottomed out of the barge, no doubt laying in the dunes a few meters away. The smell of propulsion liquid burns in your nostrils, even with your white linen head-covering wrapped tight across your face.

You move on, hauling yourself towards the engine and grabbing two of the smaller propulsion pistons from the transmission. You swing your staff across your shoulder. The strap digs into your neck as you lean into the engine and try to disconnect the main hydraulic line from the engine part.

There’s a part of you, small and girlish, that remembers being scared of dark wreckages like this when you were younger. The terrifying scenario of stumbling into a krayt dragon’s nest used to play over and over in your head; and even now, the irrational little thought nags the back of your mind like a bite from a sand flea. What was rumbling beneath the sand, ready to make you its next meal?

In reality, the most likely scenario would be Tusken scouts roughing you up over encroaching on their territory.

Scud, though, you trusted enough to give holler at the sight of another being — skittish was one of his best traits, especially when sometimes the biggest danger out here in the dunes (aside from sarlaccs) was other sentients.

If the Kiqan tribe spotted you this far out? At worst, you’d lose some of the scavenged parts from earlier in the day as a barter. The Kiqan, the tribe local to this region, knew well enough that the majority of scavengers meant well. Unlike some of the tribes native to the Western lands, the Kiqans have come to terms with the traffic coming in and out of Mos Eisley.

Their chief, a broad and strong woman called Rhaza’hoq, led a clan of twenty Tusken men and women. On more than one occasion, you’d crossed paths with her — you’d come to recognize the womp rat jaw as a part of her head covering and a pelt of bantha donning her shoulders. Though their native tongue felt wrong to you, like prying dry sounds right from your throat, you’d tried to apologize for your trespass.  

That seemed to have been enough respect garnered for the chief to allow you to pass through the Bo’mar Flats in peace. You’d even offered up an armful of rifle components as a gesture of good faith — one you haven’t regretted since.

If they were to catch you here, you’d lose a good lump sum of money. The two battered sheets of durasteel strapped to the side of Scud, each four feet by four feet, would catch a fair price at the Junkyard in Mos Eisley. So, you quietly resign your attempt to dislodge the third propulsion piston and shoulder the two others. Your sack swings heavily against your hip as you plant your boot on the lip of the engine and reach through the hole the ignition blast caused in the floor.

Almost as immediately as you haul yourself up do you regret it.

The smell is wretched, and as you cough and gag you can’t help but recoil in disgust.

Your arrival on the main floor of the sail barge brings with it the cacophonous sound of cave beetles wings; the insects scatter as you press your forearm to your face — you’re left only to stare in horror at the sight before you.

Jabba Desilijic Tiure was very dead.

The infamous Hutt is little more than a snack for the various animals who have come and gone from the wreckage, now. Reduced only to a rotting mess of flesh and bones, you feel the swell of bile creep up into your throat as you tear your gaze away.

“Gods above,” you heave, coughing loudly.

That’s when you hear it.

A weak sound.

A strangled moan.

Small, quiet, and nearly nothing but a whimper.

For a moment, your muscles seize up so tightly that you're left holding your breath — was that you? Had that sound slipped from your throat the moment you’d let your eyes slip to the open windows along the starboard side of the ship, overlooking the Great Pit beyond the dune ridge?

Then, you see him.

It’s the single weak raise of a gloved hand in the dirt that spurs you into motion.

Scud, too, in that moment must have realized you both weren’t alone — he gives a great baying moan as you scramble, slipping through the whole and back down the engine. You scale it with ease, staff swung over your shoulder at the ready the moment your boots hit the ground.

You dart out into the sun, escaping the festering wreck, and bolt towards what you had previously thought was just a mangled, twisted piece of a rear booster. Making your way up the rising dune, you groan and push your muscles to reach what you now recognized as a destroyed jetpack — and beneath it, a man.

Your spear greets his body first, rounded butt end planting itself beneath his side and with one good nudge, rolling him over.

That’s when you realize he is very much alive and he is very much missing a leg.

Almost immediately, you sink to the dirt.

He’s big. His chest bears a cracked and scathed piece of armor. One arm, with a tattered sleeve and no glove, bears a shoulder pauldron with an insignia long since charred away. It seems like the entire left side of his body had been scorched by some sort of blast. His jetpack, mangled and shredded, is the first to go. You unbuckle the straps along his arms with an utterance of apology.

You’re greeted with a low groan. Slight protest.

Confusion.

His eyes do not open. Swollen eyelids stay shut.

Clicking your tongue and hollering in Huttese, your lumbering dewback trods closer.

His face is sunburnt, the plains of his sharp cheekbones blistering from the exposure to the sun and sand — though, something ticks in the back of your mind. These burns are fresh. From the last day at least. Suddenly, you’re wondering if he’s a fellow scavenger who’d fallen into the pit.

The jetpack would explain the escape.

You toss the pack down the hill.

You follow it, tripping down the sand towards the side of Scud as you scramble for one of the durasteel sheets. Laying it flat on the hot sand, you wonder how on earth this man had survived this long…. A day at least, judging by the sand swept around him and the burns along his arms and face. How long had he been in The Pit?

Gods above.

The Bo’mar Flats were not a kind place when left to the elements.

You land beside the man once more, this time speaking loudly.

“I am going to help you.”

You’re not sure if you’re saying it more for yourself or him.

There’s a part of you, as your eyes flick down to the stump of his left leg, that would give anything to turn away. Ride off, forget the gorish scene. Yet, the better part of you knows you’d simply come back come morning and do the same thing you’re doing now.

And then, come daybreak, he may not even be alive.

You tell yourself, as you squat and try and get a good grip, that you’re doing exactly what anyone else would do. But the reality is that’s far from the truth. Out here, it’s eat or be eaten.

With your luck, you’re stumbling into a metaphorical krayt dragon’s nest helping this man.

If only you knew.

You root both your fists in the material around his shoulders, worn enough to show the outline of where armor used to sit. And you pull.

It’s no easy feat. Even with gravity working in your favor, you’re struggling to haul the large man down the dune. The sand simply drags along, digging him into the dune as you curse in Huttese and spit out profanities sharp enough to make Scud shift on his peds. Your knuckles ache, fingernails having dug half moons into your palms through the material of his under-armor tunic. Landing backwards, you curse. But, you get back up again, and you pull.

It takes ten minutes to move him two meters to the durasteel sled downhill — and even longer to maneuver him onto the steel piece of scavenged material. By the end of it, you’re prying your scarf from your mouth to breath. Sweat tickles the back of your neck as your hands hit your knees and you groan.

“Koochoo,” you hiss at yourself in Huttese. Idiot is right. This is stupid.

Throughout this, the wounded man has offered nothing, not a single peep — you wonder if his last ditch hail of his hand was the only bit of energy he had left.

With him now on the makeshift sled, you move towards Scud’s left pack. Inside, you dig out your canteen and a spare bacta pack. The water sloshes around the hollow metal sphere. Once cold from your early hour of embarking, it’s warm to the touch.

It’s been a hot day.

Overhead, the twin suns have melted into a hazy coral color. They hang low across the horizon, suspended in a flickering bob of heat that dances across the clouds.

You fall to your knees in the sand. You need to move quickly. Soon, the sun will set and getting back to your hut just north of Mos Eisley is an hour’s ride at best.

The lower part of his left leg, from the knee down, is gone. The bleeding had long since stopped, clotted up from the sand and what looks like corrosive burns… Sure enough, the same patterning around his wrists tell you he sure as all kriff has been in the belly of the Great Pit of Carkoon. It’s the stomach acid that has melted the skin together just enough to halt the bleeding along his knee.

You exhale. Short and quick. Then, you pour your water across the limb.

That earns a loud groan of protest. Good to know he’s still alive.

The bacta is next, squeezed from the age old tube in a glob that lands above the wound. With an iron gut and quick sense of criticality, you rinse your own hands with water, all before holding your breath and pushing the palm sized amount across the mangled flesh and muscle. You try not to think about the way your own knee twitches, and instead, focus on planting your hand on the man’s chest — for the first time, he gives a true indication he feels it. The man writhes, contorting himself as a painful series of expletives fly from his mouth.

The chest plate buckles slightly, and when you lift your palm, the dirt smeared away shows a small emblem… Tan and green and red. What looks like wheat and a drop of blood…

It’s familiar, but you can’t remember why. You’ve seen it somewhere. Chewing the inside of your lip, you tear your eyes away and you move on. In a flash, you’ve hauled the linen head wrap from your hair. With the sun setting, you won’t need it as much as he will — keeping the sand out of the clean-enough wound will make a difference once you get him back to your home.

A part of you wonders if this man has any credits at all — truth be told you certainly don’t have enough to cover a visit to the local doctor. As you finish tying off his thigh, you reason that conversation is a bridge you can cross when you get there. For now, let’s just hope you can get him back to your dwelling alive.

Away from this wretched wreck.

By the time you’re mounted back up on Scud’s back, the suns have begun to dip below the dunes on the farthest horizon — the stars melt as they disappear, casting the shadows of the dunes in inky blacks. Behind Scud, the stranger is dragged, rigged to the saddle by two extending cables originally scavenged off an abandoned pod-racing setup, out by Bestine. The plating he rests on glides across the sand, leaving patterns in the dunes. You crane your neck, turning in the saddle, and frown.

There was certainly a first for everything.

⋆   ⋆   ⋆

Boba Fett wakes to the sight of a dirt ceiling.

The stirring confusion of unconsciousness subsides and almost immediately he is roused by pain — then comes the startling panic.

Is he dead?

Where is he?

What in the hell happened?

This is not the barge; there is no Luke Skywalker here, nor Solo nor the Wookie... The Pit… He’d fallen in. Yea, yea, he remembers that. But, he got out. Jetpack punctured. Flew him straight into the air. Burns. That’s the pain he feels. Burns? Yes. His back.

His leg. Something feels different. An ache. He tries to move his feet.

Boba groans, angled features contorting into a pained look as he tries to sit up on the cot; but suddenly, there’s a hand on the center of his chest. Gently, the hand pushes him down to the pillows.

Slowly, dark brown eyes follow the hand. Wrist, arm, shoulder, face.

Headscarf.

The first thing he realizes is that your eyes are beautiful, but soft. There’s kohl lining your eyes, making your stare piercing. Your brows are knotted in concern, and though he cannot make out the words that fall from your lips, he can understand the tone to be gentle. You’re speaking Huttese.

… Gods damn it all.

The Hutts.

Jabba.

Son of bitch was probably dead. He’s sure that the Desilijic Clan will have something to say about that.

Boba’s eyes slip shut as he exhales.

Sleep takes him easily.

⋆   ⋆   ⋆

When he wakes again, it’s evening. There are candles burning in the room, and once his eyes adjust he can make out your figure through a blanket covering the doorway at the end of the room — through the crack, he can see that you’re cooking over a small stove-top. He is laid up in the bedroom, he realizes, and on the floor across from the cot he lays upon is a pile of pillows.

You must have been watching over him.

Instantly, he’s looking for his blaster.

Call it a habit.

The mere act of bending sends pain shooting up his spine; and Boba finds himself gritting his jaw tightly as his knuckles tense and he tries to see any remnants of his armor or pack or weapons.

The commotion summons you in a flash.

This time, you have no headscarf on; Boba can now see the swell of your lips and the kind slope of your nose. You’re beautiful — his bruised and bloodshot eyes follow you as you glide into the room and duck beneath the patterned blanket separating the bedroom from the kitchenette.

There’s a plate of food in your hand. A fork and a knife rest on the edge of the painted plate.

“Careful,” comes a gentle utterance as you place the food beside his head on the table there, “Take it easy.”

Your basic is dashed with the light accent of Huttese. The syllables are melodic and gentle. You reach to help him into a sitting position, keen on making sure he’s comfortable —

Like a sand viper, the man before you has snatched the knife from the plate, swinging his hand quickly with a lethal sense of precision that stuns you silent. The coolness of the durasteel utensil is pressed right to your throat.

You can see the muscles in his arms tense, the sharp rise and fall of his bare chest. The blanket across his lap has slipped to his waist. Your jaw tilts upward, expression souring quickly. The kindness in your eyes quickly turns to ice.

When you raise your eyes to meet his, all Boba can see is defiance.

“Who are you?” he grits out hoarsely, “And how did I get here?”

“I found you,” you hiss, words scathing and hot as you raise both hands. There’s a wrinkle forming on the bridge of your nose, giving way to the angered expression flooding your face, “I’m beginning to see why The Great Pit of Carkoon spat you back up.”

The tension that builds settles heavily between you both.

And then, Boba Fett lowers the knife.

[rhys-rambles]

FIGHT CLUB | 1999

I was introduced to the movie Fight Club around 3 years ago. It wasn’t until recently I’ve become interested in it. So here’s my Fight Club breakdown :) WARNING FOR SPOILERS!!

For those who don’t know, Fight Club is a cult favorite novel that was later adapted into a film released in 1999, directed by David Fincher. Starring Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, and Helena Bonham Carter.

The story of Fight Club revolves around three main characters. It’s told from a first-person perspective by a nameless character that’s commonly called ‘the narrator’, who has a dead-end white-collar job at a major car company and has fallen prey to what he calls the ‘Ikea-nesting instinct’. Dictated by social norms he walks perfectly in line like a docile sheep, which translates into an inauthentic, repetitive and empty life.

He suffers from a bad case of insomnia, which causes him to be neither fully awake, nor fully asleep. Sometimes, he entertains self-destructive thoughts: as he flies around from state to state for his job, he prays for a crash or mid-air collision every time the plane bankes too sharply on takeoff or landing.

During a flight, he meets an eccentric and hypermasculine character named Tyler Durden.

Tyler seems to be the direct opposite of the narrator. He’s a wolf rather than a sheep, disentangled from society, and impervious to social norms. He takes what he wants, without asking, and whenever he pleases. He’s self-sufficient, has no superiors, and doesn’t care about material possessions.

The movie later reveals that Tyler and the narrator are the same person, as Tyler is a product of the narrator’s imagination, that’s probably induced by severe insomnia combined with dissatisfaction with a dull, meaningless existence and a lifetime of repressed urges.

The narrator is addicted to going to support groups for specific illnesses because these give him the opportunity to cry, which seems to be a remedy for his insomnia. The downside of his behavior is that he isn’t genuine; he has no testicular cancer, or blood parasites, yet acts as if he does, so he can reap the benefits of these sessions.

But these benefits come to an end when another non-genuine visitor starts to join the sessions as well. This is a woman named Marla Singer, and her motive for joining these sessions is, and I quote: “It’s cheaper than a movie and there’s free coffee.”

Marla is a self-destructive, chain-smoking fatalist, who’s expecting to die at any moment, but finds it tragic that it never happens. She steals food and clothes for a living and attempts suicide by overdosing Xanax.

Even though the narrator, Tyler, and Marla are totally different personalities, they all live their lives accompanied by a nihilistic undercurrent.

Tyler seems to have figured out what causes this emptiness, and during the course of the story, his solution unfolds. Unfortunately, his character slides from a sage-like father figure to an anarchist terrorist, who’s out to destroy modern civilization. Nevertheless, he exposes a series of harsh realities about modern life that are worth contemplating.

Anti-consumerism

The anti-consumerist stance of Tyler Durden becomes obvious when he verbalizes his concern about the modern way of life. Shortly after the narrator meets Tyler, he discovers that his apartment went up in flames. After this unfortunate event, realizing that he has no friends to call, he calls Tyler. The two meet, and the narrator complains about losing his furniture, and his respectable and almost complete wardrobe. Tyler responds rather indifferently and slightly sarcastically before he begins to express his views on the matter. Quote:

“We’re consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don’t concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy’s name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra…”

It becomes clear that Tyler has quite an unconventional view of what’s good and bad. Murder, crime, and poverty are generally considered bad things, while consumer goods like televisions, clothing from a certain brand, products that help to hide aging, enhance bedroom performance, and help us with weight loss, are considered preferable.

Tyler has a contempt for the artificial, as opposed to elements that have been a natural part of the human condition, probably as long we exist. This way of thinking touches upon an ancient Cynic philosopher named Diogenes of Sinope, who believed that modern, civilized life hinders our natural state.

At the end of the movie, it appears that the narrator has destroyed his apartment himself when he was taken over by his alter ego, Tyler Durden. This deed was the first step onto the road of detachment from his property, into a more authentic way of life and to (how Tyler puts it): “reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions.”

The narrator moves in with Tyler, who lives in a dilapidated house with ongoing leaks, power failures, and no Ikea furniture. Slowly but surely, the narrator indeed detaches from his previously destroyed property. “Things you own end up owning you,” Tyler tells him. And this simple piece of wisdom probably hits home, when the narrator realizes that he doesn’t need all these worldly goods, and is actually much happier without them.

Non-conformity

Tyler Durden is a non-conformist, and shows, again, similarities with Diogenes, who not only purposefully lived in poverty, but also rejected social norms. For him, social constructs are nothing more than a superficial layer of culture that represses our true nature.

Diogenes lived in a barrel, Tyler lives in an abandoned building. Diogenes urinated in public, Tyler urinates in the soup of a restaurant.

The narrator, on the other hand, seems to be the embodiment of conformity, as he adapts his lifestyle completely to societal expectations. The problem with this behavior is that we dedicate our existence walking the paths that people other than ourselves have laid out for us. This need to conform, the fear of falling by the wayside, this sickly preoccupation by what others think of us, this necessity to keep up with the Joneses: what an exhausting way of life, just to feel ‘accepted’.

So, what if we stop caring? What if we reject the generally accepted norms, and choose our own values, elect our own leaders, determine our own goals, regardless of the social expectations? This is a fundamental difference between the narrator and Tyler Durden, who puts it like this: “I am free in all the ways that you are not.”

Ironically, later on in the story, Project Mayhem, a terrorist organization led by Tyler that grows out of Fight Club, is a textbook example of conformity, as it’s members wear the same clothes, are absolutely equal, abolish their names, and are referred to as space monkeys that sacrifice their lives for a greater cause. We could say that by rejecting one doctrine in order to be ‘non-conformist’, we often imprison ourselves in another one.

Fighting and masculinity

Fighting and the experience of pain play a significant role in Fight Club. At the beginning of the story, Tyler asks the narrator to hit him as hard as he can. He explains his strange wish by saying: “How can you know yourself if you’ve never been in a fight? I don’t want to die without any scars.”

So, the narrator hits him. Tyler hits him back, and the two engage in a fistfight. Both seem to feel surprisingly pleasant afterward and decide to do it again. Their nightly activities on a parking lot attract the attention of other men, that are also interested in joining these non-hostile fistfights. And thus, Fight Club is born.

It’s widely known that voluntary exposure to certain forms of pain makes us stronger in the face of adversity, which could be a legit reason to partake in these fights. As the narrator states: “After fighting everything else in your life got the volume turned down.”

However, Fight Club is more than just a metaphor for dealing with hardship through exposure: a physical fight, and the violence and aggression that goes with it, resonates with the primal part of our being.

Not only the men in the story are attracted to the violence of fighting; Fight Club as a movie and novel was so impactful on its audience, that real-life Fight Clubs started to emerge.

The story shows an experiment in which the members of Fight Club pick fights with random strangers (and are supposed to lose), which isn’t as easy as it sounds; most people do everything to avoid physical conflict.

But Fight Club makes us wonder if it’s a good thing that we’ve lost touch with these primal tendencies. Should we repress this part of human nature? Or, perhaps, integrate it in healthy and constructive ways?

Self-destruction

When the story progresses, Tyler and the narrator begin to see the world through a different lens. Tyler criticizes the modern self-improvement hype by saying: “Self-improvement is masturbation. Now self-destruction… ”

This statement is slightly confusing, as the increasingly destructive nature of Fight Club, in which faces are permanently mutilated and teeth are knocked out of people’s heads, doesn’t seem to be a sustainable way to live.

But Tyler might be onto something when we look at self-destruction as the destruction of a false self.

‘Self-improvement’ often points to the accumulation of external goods: a better house, a better job, a better body, more money. But why should we endlessly want to improve ourselves? Why can’t we just be happy with how things are, and take life as it comes? Or as Tyler states:

“I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let’s evolve, let the chips fall where they may.”

We create an identity through material wealth, and social status. And as far as Tyler is concerned, this false sense of self must be destroyed, before we are free to do anything we want. Therefore, the ‘space monkeys’ of Project Mayhem live by a mantra which goes like this:

“You are not your job, you’re not how much money you have in the bank. You are not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fucking khakis. You are all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.” - Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Tyler makes a so-called human sacrifice, namely a man called Raymond who works a dead-end job in a convenience store. Raymond wanted to be a veterinarian, but didn’t make it because it was “too much studying.” Tyler threatens Raymond, saying that if he doesn’t start studying within six weeks, he’ll kill him.

In this scene, Tyler points to another aspect of self-destruction: the act of letting go of fears, negative self-talk, and all distractions, so we can fully focus on our purpose. It’s the destruction of everything within ourselves that holds us back from living life on our own terms.

A near-life experience

Many people go great lengths when it comes to pain avoidance. The problem is that running from pain means running from an inevitable part of life.

The prospect of incurring pain makes us anxious, and often leads to self-indulgent decisions. That is: choosing the less painful path, even if a more painful path guarantees more success and pleasure in the future.

Tyler Durden deals with this by inflicting a chemical wound on the narrator’s hand using lye.

As expected, the narrator does everything to escape the pain: he uses visualization techniques he learned at a seminar, and retreating in his cave to find his ‘power animal’. But Tyler slaps him in the face, forcing him to stay with the pain, saying: “This is the greatest moment of your life, man. And you’re off somewhere missing it.”

For the narrator, Tyler has one central goal: he must reach bottom. After putting him through suffering, and destroying his false identity, there’s yet another aspect that must be crushed: hope. Losing all hope is freedom. And, therefore, he must reject what has rejected him: his father, and God. I quote:

“Consider the possibility that God does not like you. In all probability, he hates you.” - Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Tyler states that we don’t need God. That we shouldn’t care about redemption and damnation. And if we’re God’s unwanted children, so be it. Thereby, we lose all hope, but are also liberated from religious doctrine and fatherly authority.

Now we’re truly free. Now we can create our own meaning, and live how we want to live.

Tyler emphasizes the importance of knowing what we want in life. To achieve this, we must be willing to get out of our comfort zone and jump into the unknown without safety brackets.

The narrator, however, has difficulties letting go of security. He begs Tyler to not mess around when he lets go of the steering wheel in a driving car while hitting the gas. Tyler calls the narrator ‘pathetic’, and yells: “hitting bottom isn’t a weekend retreat. It’s not a goddamn seminar. Stop trying to control everything and just let go!”

After an inevitable car crash, Tyler states that they just had a ‘near-life experience’.

Wrap up

Fight Club is a story about rebellion against the status quo and a plea for the simple life. It criticizes the ways in which we are so hung up on security, and material possessions, and how people let social norms dictate their lives.

‘Stuff’ has become our religion. The idols we worship are Ikea and Starbucks. And the more we immerse ourselves in such an empty and unfulfilling existence, the more we start to resemble the things that we produce: manufactured products rather than authentic human beings.

Tyler shows us a way out. And even though his insights are profound, the execution is questionable. Fight Club, and its terrorist branch Project Mayhem, show us how easy it is to oppose one ideology, in order to fall into another, and how a cult-like echo chamber built on rigid beliefs could become very destructive.

Nevertheless, Tyler challenges us to be self-sufficient and disobedient to the authorities that let us down, to live authentically and in the moment, to confront our fears, to boldly step out of our comfort zones, and let the things that don’t matter truly slide.

[carriagelamp]

April l was apparently the month for me to revisit some children’s authors who are steeped in controversy at the moment. So here’s my hot (well, lukewarm) takes on issues that absolutely do not need a single other person talking about them. Also some actual good books that I read this month!

Badger in the Basement

The Animal Ark books are a childhood classic — though I recently found out that apparently there’s a difference between American and British publications, and the American versions didn’t include a lot of actual COOL animals which is… bizarre. As a Canadian stuck in the middle of this, this nonsense drives me nuts. This one was about the main character, the daughter of pair of vets, trying to protect a local badger sett from men wanting to participate in badger digging and baiting. These books are always feel-good, and it was a nice single-day-read while I waited for a library book to come in.

Chi’s Sweet Home

The cutest manga series about the misadventures of a little kitten, Chi, who has been adopted by a loving family. I’ve never bothered to read them in order, but apparently this time I stumbled across the last in the series -- whoops! Still, stood on it’s own pretty easily, and it was a fun read! Things get tense when the family realize that they may have found Chi’s original home… and may have to give up Chi forever.

Earth Before Us: Dinosaur Empire!

This was an odd graphic novel, I feel like I’m not sure who the target audience was exactly. It was a nonfiction comic done in a Magic School Bus style, with the purpose of teaching current, up-to-date facts about the animals that lived in the Mesozoic Era. If you’re into dinosaurs, you’ll probably enjoy this! The art is absolutely adorable, I love the dinosaur illustrations, and I learnt some really neat facts. That being said, the pages are really dense, and there’s a lot of info crammed in… some of it will probably go way over a child’s head without specific additional teaching or a very strong personal interest. But that being said, a dinosaur obsessed kid is still probably going to really dig this… as would a dinosaur obsessed adult. It wasn’t my cup of tea exactly but I’m sure it is someone’s.

assorted Dr Seuss Books

I love these types of controversies because it means getting to listen to every moron who has never had an opinion on Dr Seuss ever start generating a mile of them out of the aether. So many people are so mad about the six books that are getting retired and I bet most of them haven’t even read them. These are not the friggin Cat In The Hat or The Lorax or even the likes of Yertle The Turtle. I was raised by a grade one teacher, was a voracious reader who loved Dr Seuss, and wrote my university thesis on children’s literature, and I still only knew two of the six books on that list. So by all means, if you want to write an essay explaining why those specific books are worth clinging to, feel free, but if you haven’t even heard of them maybe it’s not a big deal. *grumble*

Anyway, my grousing aside, it gave me the urge to reread a bunch of Seuss books, including the two retiring books I personally knew: McElligot’s Pool and To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street. I do still enjoy both, especially McElligot’s Pool which always sparked my imagination, but it’s obvious why they’re being retired and I personally think it’s the right choice. There’s so much good kidlit out there, we can survive without these.

Goodbye, My Rose Garden

A f/f romance manga, fairly standard fair though cute if you’re looking for some historical angst, pretty dresses, and mutual pining. A young Japanese woman moves to England in the hopes of meeting a writer (Mr Frank) who she has long admired. Along the way she is employed by an enigmatic woman with plenty of money, rumours, and melancholy following her. I’ll be honest, uncut romance isn’t really my genre, but I’ll probably still try to the second book to see if the story picks up.

From The Holocaust to Hogan’s Heroes: The Autobiography of Robert Clary

It’s no secret that I’ve been on a Hogan’s Heroes kick. This is the autobiography of Roberty Clary, who plays my favourite character in the show, Louis Lebeau. And holy shit what a life this man has had. He was a Jew growing up in France before the start of the war, and who was one of many children taken away from his family and sent off to the concentration camps in Germany. This was an amazing, intense, inspiring, and heartbreaking read… it has Clary’s voice all over it, and it tells everything from the charming childhood he had, to the horrors of the concentration camps, the brutality of survival, and then about his exciting journey into the entertainment industry afterwards. It’s an experience, would recommend if you’re a fan of the show.

The Ickabog

The second controversial author I read this month. Originally I was going to give Rowling’s new book a miss, given everything that’s been going on over the past few years, but in the end my curiosity got the better of me. Politics aside, it was a fun read! Not groundbreaking, but enjoyable enough and written in an interesting style. It didn’t read the same as a lot of modern kidlit, it felt more like a cross between a classic fairytale and a Dahl book. Perhaps a bit like Despereaux. It tells the tale of how an idyllic country gradually falls into ruin through the ignorance, inaction, and greed, and how a supposedly fictional monster hides the very real, human monsters at the heart of the country. It was cute and pleasant and I’m glad I decided to get it from the library, though for anyone who is choosing not to engage for political reasons: you aren’t missing anything major.

Franklin In The Dark

A Canadian classic. I don’t think there’s a single person my age who hasn’t read or been read a pile of these books, and the nostalgia is so comforting. I found this on Youtube and listened to someone read it to me, and honestly 10/10 would recommend for a calm evening.

The big reason I decided to seek this one out though, was because I finally got to the M*A*S*H episode that inspired this entire series! In the episode C*A*V*E, in which Hawkeye is freaking out over his claustrophia while the camp is forced to take shelter in a nearby cave during some intense shelling, he mentions that if he had been born a turtle he would have been afraid of his own shell, and that the other turtles would make fun of him cause he’d be forced to walk around in his underwear. And so this first story about a young turtle who’s afraid to sleep in his own shell and drags it around behind him. So if you were ever curious, Franklin the Turtle is in fact named after Dr Benjamin Franklin Pierce. (this is also why the French version is named Benjamin!)

Wolves of the Beyond: Lone Wolf

I loved the Guardians of Ga’Hoole books as a kid but I never read the Wolves of the Beyond series. This first book was an interesting read, Lasky does a great job creating worlds and societies for the animals that inhabit them. Lone Wolf is about a deformed wolf cub who was abandoned in the wilderness to die. And he would have, if a desperate mother bear, who had recently had her only cub killed, hadn’t stumbled across him and saved him, vowing to raise him as her own...

Petals

A “silent” graphic novel. It has beautiful artwork and is told entirely through pictures, no text at all. It’s loves and heart-wrenching, though it left me feeling somewhat unsatisfied… I felt like there should have been more. Still, a neat story.

The Southern Book Club‘s Guide To Slaying Vampires

What a banger of a novel!! I can’t recommend this one enough. It’s about a group of suburban mothers in the ‘80s who form a book club out of a shared need for community and a love of grisly true crime novels. But when a strange drifter appears in town and starts setting down roots… and when children begin disappearing… these women need to band together to confront the horrors that have invaded their neighbourhood, and face down not only a terrifying monster among them but the patriarchal system that allows it to flourish. To quote the preface:

“Because vampires are the original serial killers, stripped of everything that makes us human — they have no friends, no family, no roots, no children. All they have is hunger. They eat and eat but they’re never full. With this book, I wanted to pit a man freed from all responsibilities but his appetites against women whose lives are shaped by their endless responsibilities. I wanted to pit Dracula against my mom.    As you’ll see, it’s not a fair fight.“

The Weirn Books: Be Wary of the Silent Woods

I love Chmakova’s graphic novels, though I’ve only ever read her slice-of-life middle grade series before. This one is pure fantasy and very fun. It’s about two cousin “weirns” — witches with demon familiars — who attend the local night school. Things get strange though when an ominous figure appears outside the old, abandoned school house deep in the Silent Woods, and begins tempting children down its path…

I’m very much looking forward to word of a second book and was honestly kind of surprised that I haven’t heard more about this book given how popular her other series is. This has all the same charm and quirks but for those of us who prefer stories based in fantasy rather than reality.

And A Bonus...

For some masochistic reason I got a Garfield book out of the library. Jeez, if I didn’t love these as a kid, I found them absolutely laugh out loud hilarious, and now I just don’t see it anymore. But here I will share the one strip in the book that actually made me laugh

[sejjouaven]

Astrology; Heliocentrism: 'The Earth Sign'

In Heliocentric Astrology, the Earth sign is the opposite of the Geocentric zodiac sign of which the Sun falls in. For example, if your Sun is in Virgo, this would make you a 'Pisces Earth'.

The Sun represents our growth, individuality, and personality that shines outward. It is when the Sun falls in whatever zodiac sign that the personality directly inherits these traits, which is why Western astrology has generalized this to be the main zodiac sign. The Earth sign represents the individual's 'Earthly Soul'. Imagine, that the Earth resonates with the Sun as they are gravitationally interlocked, the whole Earth soul, the molecules, plants, animals, all resonating in one particular sign due to directional induction. The Earth sign is also partially compared to the Moon, but of a more 'Humanitarian level'. This Humanitarian energy is correspondent to the debatable exoteric ruler of the Earth as Libra. Earth's esoteric ruler is Sagittarius. The Earth sign articulates the individual’s unconscious in passivity, along with the general human and global mass un/subconscious. As the Sun sign's position affects the direct and active conscious, the Earth falls under its induction as a passivity over time, affecting the subconscious. This effect of Heliocentrism and Geocentricism is polarity. The unconscious, following subconscious, are the roots of the direct and active conscious. 

The Earth sign revealed in the Heliocentric chart is just as important as the preliminaries, especially considering that we actually inhabit it.

Sun

Cognitive Personality, Radiance, Individuality

Moon

Subconscious, Emotional Personality, Resonance

Earth

Unconscious, Foundation, Soul

---

DEFINITIONS FROM www.mermaid-uk.net

"Earth Through The Signs"

"Earth In Aries"

This position points to a life that serves to release or birth Active Intelligence into the environment. This is done through awakening oneself, and then others, to the latent possibilities for the creative expression of the Earth’s resources, and of matter in general. This is balanced by the Sun in Libra, indicating that such resources have to be distributed (through Uranus and the 7th Ray) according to the Law of Right Human Relations. This combination blends the energies of Rays One and Seven {Aries} with Ray 3 (the Earth) and is thus very much related to the relationship of Spirit and matter through the focus of Active Intelligence.

"Earth In Taurus"

A most potent position for the dispelling of material glamour and illusions. This placement reveals that one of the most essential tasks the individual has to accomplish is the creation of those forms which will be the proper instrument for the expression of the Will-to-Be. The Third and Fourth Ray combined in this position, providing a potent and challenging life. This soul-centered person would be constantly involved in the process of breaking down those forms and structures which are no longer able to transmit Light. The keyword for this position could be ~I break down and unblock~, as this function characterizes one who is born with the Earth in Taurus and the Sun in Scorpio. It should be remembered that Venus, exoteric ruler of the Bull, is considered the Higher Self of the Earth. The Earth in Taurus helps to reveal the inner truth of the spiritual reality hidden all too often within the context of terrestrial life and material forms.

"Earth In Gemini"

This is a very challenging position as its esoteric significance is more profound. Since the Earth rules Sagittarius, it would be natural to assume that this planet has its detriment in the sign of the Twins. Yet Venus rules Gemini and the connection between the Earth and Venus is a highly positive and beautiful one. One can only speculate and so consider the following conclusions in this light. It is a fact that Gemini, through its association with Venus creates in the minds of humanity an increased awareness of the essential duality which exists between material, sensual desires and the urge to align oneself with the Will-to-Good of the spirit. In effect the basic duality of one on the Fixed Cross is this conflict between the will of the lesser self and the Will of the Creator. This is a collective planetary, and particularly human dilemma. It appears that this duality is increased when the Earth is in Gemini and the Sun is in Sagittarius, thus giving a heightened spiritual opportunity to one with this placement.

On the personality level, this may indicate that the energies of the lower self tend to scatter and become dissipated in the unconscious attempt to integrate egocentric motivations. A Soul-centered individual with this placement in the natal horoscope would tend to be quite aware of the disparity existing between the values and goals of the personality and those of the Higher Self. The house position of the Earth would reveal that area of life in which this duality is most pronounced. In the symbology of the Twins the Ancient Wisdom Teachings tell us that the Earth is related to the Brother ~whose light grows stronger cycle by cycle~. This, of course, refers to the increasing expression of Soul-focused love.

"Earth In Cancer"

Cancer is the ~Gate In~ and anchors the incarnating soul onto the Planet in terms of the personality and the mass consciousness. It is a beginning of the evolutionary arc which first seeks to develop self consciousness in Leo, and then group consciousness (and subsequent world service) in Aquarius. From the Soul centered perspective of one who is born with this position and thus with the Sun in Capricorn, the emphasis on the Third Ray is paramount. Cancer is the primary sign of the expression of this Ray and Capricorn is found here as well. Saturn the ruler of the latter, on both Soul and personality levels, is the primary planetary expression of Active Intelligence and is partnered in this respect by the Earth. This is the purest Third Ray expression possible (although Earth in Capricorn also has a potential Third Ray expression). The dharma of the life is clear; to create those physical structures and thought forms that allow Light to be utilized as a source of strength for others. The house position will reveal this ~well of spiritual waters sunk deeply into the Earth~ so that all may come to drink of the Father (in this case the Father of the Waters, Neptune).

"Earth In Leo"

The mental quality of this combination is very strong, as we have a blending in Rays One and Five (Leo) and Three (Earth). Yet the Sun is of the Second Ray, so the potential for creating those forms of expression of Love/Wisdom is very great. The Sun in Aquarius brings in the polarized energies of yet another Fifth Ray sign, and its Second Ray ruler, Jupiter. The Aquarian will be able to find an Earth based focus (that is, the Earth’s house position) for the urge to network and unite groups of various individuals. The self conscious quality of the Earth’s Leo placement will point to exactly where the Water Bearer has to distribute his ~burden~ of consciousness.

"Earth In Virgo"

This is the position wherein the ~Mother of All Forms~ can do an incredible amount of good to release the potency of the hidden Christ child in the Soul. This combination points to an incarnation in which the individual works hard at healing and making the life on Earth more whole. Spiritually, it is a very strong position given the fact that the Sun is in Pisces, and the energies of Pluto are also manifesting. The Earth-based focus gives Pluto a chance to ~unearth the Underworld~ evoking from the depths of materiality the essential quality of love which lies in dark obscurity for the majority of humanity.

"Earth In Libra" (Exoteric Ruler: Earth)

There are three sets of connections which should be mentioned in regard to this position; it is highly mental in nature, as it is composed of Rays Three (Earth and Libra), Five (Venus) and Seven (Libra and Uranus). It involves the impulse of the Sun in Aries and its focus in the ~Place where the Will of God is Known~ with the linkage of the Higher and lower minds (Third and Fifth Rays, and Venus). This position also indicates the externalization of the Divine Ideas for the unfoldment of the Plan of Creation into the ~minds of men~. This is accomplished through the relationship of Rays One-Three-Five and their synthesized expression through Uranus and Ray Seven. The Mind of the Soul-centered person with the Earth in Libra and the Sun in Aries will act as a tool for the birthing on Earth of those essential Ideas ~whose time has come~.

"Earth In Scorpio"

This position continues to reveal the incredible opportunity for individuals on the Scorpio-Taurus polarity in their quest for the Path. It also reveals the particular type of service one may render while discovering and co-creating the Way. The Earth and Mars enter into an intimate relationship through this combination breaking down all resistance to the reorientation of material values and the release of Spiritual Will. The house position of the Earth in Scorpio is a clear indication of where a tremendous focus of detachment and sacrifice has to be made in order that a greater realization of wholeness and healing can be created. The potential for healing can be very powerful, as this combination is incredibly magnetic, drawing to itself matter of a much finer and Soul-centered nature to replace the destruction of the forms of desire so associated with its signs and planets.

"Earth In Sagittarius" (Esoteric Ruler: Earth)

This position continues to reveal the incredible opportunity for individuals on the Scorpio-Taurus polarity in their quest for the Path. It also reveals the particular type of service one may render while discovering and co-creating the Way. The Earth and Mars enter into an intimate relationship through this combination breaking down all resistance to the reorientation of material values and the release of Spiritual Will. The house position of the Earth in Scorpio is a clear indication of where a tremendous focus of detachment and sacrifice has to be made in order that a greater realization of wholeness and healing can be created. The potential for healing can be very powerful, as this combination is incredibly magnetic, drawing to itself matter of a much finer and Soul-centered nature to replace the destruction of the forms of desire so associated with its signs and planets.

"Earth In Capricorn"

As we know Capricorn is the ~Gate Out~ of ordinary incarnations, and onto the wheel of initiation and the birthing of the Christ consciousness hidden in the womb of the Virgin. The position the Earth occupies in the natal chart when the Sun is in Cancer reveals the place and function by which the Soul centered individual can most positive release his or her portion of the One Life into manifestation. Both the dharma and the karma of the life conjoin through Saturn’s association with Capricorn, the Earth and the Third Ray. Should Saturn also be found in Capricorn, conjunct the Earth and in actual opposition to the Sun in Cancer, this incarnation points to a great culmination of previous efforts in former lifetimes and a great challenge is revealed in the current one. The challenge involves the proper structuring of the life forces so that they are put under the total Will of the Father. There is no room for duality in this position, and the light of the one-pointed disciple must shine through the illusions of the material life. No-one said it would be easy!

"Earth In Aquarius"

The developed sense of self consciousness found in the life of the Soul-centered Leo individual finds ample opportunity for world service when the Earth is in the sign of the Water Bearer. This combination shows an emphasis on the mental plane, as this is a Third Ray planet acting through a Fifth Ray sign. The effects of Saturn as co-ruler of Aquarius on the personality level, as well as its Third Ray connection to the Earth are also significant. This position points to the need to create those structures of mind which channel and distribute innovative concepts into the collective consciousness. The work to be undertaken in this capacity involves the loving use (Jupiter) of the Concrete Mind for the advancement of those Ideas and Principles that will bring a sense of unified wholeness to human experience.

"Earth In Pisces"

A most potent placement, as there is a strong blending of the three Rays of Aspect through Pluto (First) Earth (Third) and Pisces (Second). The synthesis occurs through the Sixth Ray quality of the Fish and the devotion of the Soul centered individual to humanity, the Christ consciousness, and the Plan. The dharma involves selfless work to release people from those facets of the astral/desire nature which inhibit the flow of the Universal loving matrix (Second Ray). For the individual with the Sun in Virgo, the outer field of service will be indicated by the house position of this Earth in the natal chart. Jupiter and Neptune, the exoteric rulers of this sign, add even more loving idealism to this effort, but the fundamental nature of the Earth itself serves to balance such aspirations within the context of practicality.

[harostar]

How do you think of how AoT handles Anti Semitism, X Men fallacy aside. I've heard of how the reason the Eldians are so Hated was a result of reprehensible things there ancestors had done, and there religon with Ymir was sort of based on a Lie.

That would seem problematic at first glance, But I did want to learn more from someone who actually knew the series. Especially as I do know the situation in real life has complexities regarding Cycles of hate

You know, I had kind of set this Ask aside and been unsure about answering it. But I think I will give it a poke, as best as I can as someone that is one-degrees of separation from Jewish folks. So obvious disclaimer that I am approaching things from an outsider’s perspective.

The series stumbled heavily in choosing to so closely use allegories related to Nazi Germany and the Jewish people. I think a large percentage of the problem is because the Holocaust has become short-hand in public consciousness for Genocide and atrocities. Those images are scorched into the world-wide mind, and unfortunately touching on it as an allegory or using it as the basis for fictional discrimination is a very, very, very messy and difficult thing. ESPECIALLY when the creator(s) involved are not Jewish, and don’t understand the deeper aspects of Antisemitism that have been weaved into Western culture for centuries. 

Isayama borrowed from European history, used a historical atrocity to create a comparison in his work. He.......made many mistakes in doing so, because it’s a messy thing to do even when you ARE familiar with how much that hatred is woven into a lot of European imagery, stories, and beliefs. A Japanese audience is probably not going to pick up on those elements, the way a Western reader might for better or worse. 

I think that decision has muddled and tainted a lot of discussion around the series. Some people outright call it “Nazi Propaganda” and refuse to associate with people that read the series. I would argue that we are the audience have a lot of digest and discussion in terms of how the “Eldian Allegory” plays in comparison to the other themes of the work. 

Because the series would have worked MUCH BETTER had he not made the decision to base his fictional ethnic group on a real one. It was a mistake that casts doubt on a work that focuses so much on themes so opposed to a “Nazi” or “Fascist” ideology.

The atrocities of the Eldian Empire simply being exaggerations and demonizing, not matching a simple history of neighboring groups/nations fighting each other for resources and land. The idea of Ymir as a Goddess or a witch that made a deal with the Devil both being false versions of what was simply....a girl. An ordinary girl that stumbled across something Otherworldly, and gained a power that was exploited. 

The history of the series is simply about one group gaining an advantage over their neighbors. The Titans served as numerous metaphors throughout the series:

Dehumanization, especially in times of war

Gunpowder 

Chemical weapons

Nuclear weapons

The largest theme that emerges particularly in the final arcs of the story are explicitly Anti-War, Anti-Imperialism, Anti-Militarism, and Pro-Humanitarian.

Hatred and Bigotry are learned, they are things that people actively have to teach their children. The most powerful counter to Hatred is simply meeting other people. Our shared humanity proves that we are more similar than we are different. 

(This is beautifully illustrated in a flashback, in which the Survey Corps are infiltrating Marley. They end up meeting a group of foreign refugees, who welcome them into their camp for helping a child. Though the two groups do not speak the same language, they are able to understand each other enough to share in a communal meal and then party the night away. Even when we come from vastly different cultures and don’t speak the same language, we can find common ground. There is a simple joy in how people are people are people, no matter what differences we might have.)

In terms of the problematic elements, I would argue that Isayama did not intend anything Antisemitism about his work. In particular, he frames the allegorical Eldians as sympathetic with most of the cast coming from this group. The story centers on their plight and spends the most time in humanizing them. Ignorance rather than Malice. It taints the work, but also clashes with the major themes of the story. 

Indeed, our common humanity is such an important theme. Hatred and Revenge are empty, only leading to further tragedy. Eren represents those emotions and urges taken to the extreme, and that is ultimately why he becomes the Final Villain of the series. Because he allows hatred to consume him, and loses hope in the world. He can only see “Us vs Them”, and cannot see a path forward that does not involve Genocide. It’s a tragedy that warns us about letting anger consume us, and the dangers of surrendering ourselves to Violence being unavoidable. Eren can see the Future, and therefore he is trapped with the belief that there are no other paths forward. That he must follow in the footsteps of his future self, no matter what. 

It’s an ugly, tragic turn that transforms the series protagonist into a Monster. Into a world-ending monster that his loved ones must now deal with, because they have learned the lessons he did not.

The thing that separates the heroes in this story is Hope, but also a willingness to recognize the futility of revenge and hatred. As the final arcs progress, they are increasingly confronted with the option to look away from atrocities or to take revenge on people. Increasingly, they choose to take a different path.

The story of Sasha and Gabi is central in this particular theme. Sasha kills soldiers that Gabi knew, and attacked her home. But she cannot bring herself to shoot a child, even one that is clearly an enemy. Gabi is a child indoctrinated into Nationalistic, bigoted views. She kills Sasha as an enemy, but then finds her world turned on its head when she accidentally meets Sasha’s family. She’s forced to confront the reality that there are no Monsters and Devils, just ordinary people just like her that have suffered tragedies because of war. 

When given the opportunity for revenge, Sasha’s father refuses. He gives the “Forest” speech, comparing his daughter’s decision to become a soldier in war to letting her go alone into the forest. He accepts her decision and the tragic outcome, but also HIS responsibility as an adult to not pass burdens of Hatred and Revenge on to the next generation. He will not punish Gabi for being a child caught up in war. 

And this becomes an important moment for Gabi and for everyone else. She is not FORGIVEN for her crime, but these people make the conscious choice to spare her. Mikasa shields her from harm, Jean regrets hurting her in anger, they all make the choice to treat Gabi as a CHILD and not a soldier. To recognize their responsibility in doing better than the adults responsible for them. They were Child Soldiers, but they make the choice that the next generation SHOULD NOT be soldiers. 

The series deals heavily in Trauma, especially the ways that War destroys people. The physical, mental, and emotional cost to people are heavily on display throughout the series. The cast have suffered emotional and mental injuries that will never heal, and they struggle with wanting a better world for the next generation.

Children are another big theme. We have the cast start out as children, becoming Child Soldiers, and eventually reaching Adulthood. As they become the adults, we have a new generation introduced in Gabi, Falco, Udo, Sofia, and Kaya. The series gets a little heavy-handed with how Children are the Future, and people have a responsibility to not burden them. To not force their sins upon the children, to not teach them hatred or revenge, to not use them as tools. 

Zeke’s storyline contrasts with Eren’s in that each brother has reached a different conclusion about the central problem. 

Zeke wants to snuff out their own future, preventing more Eldians from being born. Their lives are suffering, so the kindest thing that can be done is to kill them or prevent them from being born. Life is meaningless, because living means suffering. 

Eren takes his hatred to its most extreme, deciding that to protect his “In Group” (the Island of Paradis) that he will destroy everything else. He has taken Dehumanization and Us vs Them mentality to its greatest extreme. He sees no future where people can do better. He refuses to even let them try. He has no hope, he sees only ugliness in the world.

In contrast, we have what has become the alliance. The surviving members of the Survey Corps, the surviving members of the Warriors, and an assortment of people from other nations. A motley group of people of different backgrounds, races and political alliances that are all brought together by a singular belief that the world is worth saving. That it shouldn’t be a Zero Sum game.

That the world is very cruel, but also very beautiful.

Hatred, cruelty, selfishness, greed, militarism, nationalism, imperialism, racism, and bigotry have led the world towards possible destruction. The Rumbling as a metaphor for Nuclear War, humanity destroying itself because it cannot look for a path besides violence.

The pure Destructive urge that is Eren, contrasted against the other two parts of that Golden Trio. 

Mikasa, the girl that was saved by a single act of kindness. The strongest of all, but also so very kind. A girl that has seen the ugliness of the world, but also the goodness in it. 

Armin, the boy with a dream. The intellectual that once asked if it was necessary to abandon your humanity to win, but has realized that our shared humanity is more important. The one filled with hope, even in the darkest moments.

And of course into this, we have Falco Grice. The boy that embodies the central themes of the story: a child soldier that has seen the worst of humanity, and has decided the best way to fight is by being Kind.